


Of Twisted Emotions

by WanderingWorldWarrior



Series: Of Different Emotions [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Angry Sex, Angst, Asgard, Blood, Blood and Gore, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), Dark Loki (Marvel), Emotional Hurt, Erotica, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Drama, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Feels, Loki Has Issues, Loki is a dick, Midgard, POV Second Person, Quickies, Reader Has Powers, Reader Is Badass, Reader Joins the Avengers kind of, Reader-Insert, Romantic Tension, Sexual Tension, Smut, Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, There be angst here, Twisted, World Travel, fem reader - Freeform, loki/you - Freeform, part three
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-01-06 10:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12209553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingWorldWarrior/pseuds/WanderingWorldWarrior
Summary: Here for the smut? (Or want to avoid it?) Chapter 4 is NSFW.It's been over a year since Loki Laufeyson vanished. Over a year since you were meant to be bound in marriage to the prince of Asgard.You've since been doing your duty as a warrior, one pledged to defend the grand city at Odin Allfather's bidding.But when you're given news of your lost prince - that he not only lives, but wreaks havoc upon Midgard - what are you to do?And more importantly, do you trust yourself to stop him?Part Three of the series: Of Different EmotionsFind me on Tumblrhere!Consider joining myDiscord!Music playlist for this serieshere!





	1. Nothing More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShootingStarSojourner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShootingStarSojourner/gifts), [Auria223](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auria223/gifts), [sunmoonandstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunmoonandstars/gifts), [FlightlessAngelWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlightlessAngelWings/gifts), [lovetoread2much](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetoread2much/gifts), [Iplaydead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iplaydead/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY YOU GUYS, IT'S ME  
> Welcome to Part Three! I'm super pumped to begin OTE, like, you have no idea. I just wanted to say that this may be a little slower to update, since I have a lot of things going on right now. I'm working on art commissions and trying to write an actual book-book, not fic-book. Of Different Emotions started as a writer's block project, and it's continued to be that. SO, it may be a little slower to update, but it's not going to stop until it's finished.  
> Prepare yourself for an absolute angst fest.  
> <3  
> Love you guys.

The sounds of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s evacuation are loud and chaotic, but Loki Laufeyson neither cares nor notices the minor distraction. He rises from where he kneels, the tesseract's energy leaving wisps of smoke that curl and twist around his body. 

 

His travel through space had been easier, much easier than he had anticipated. Almost natural, he would say, with the tesseract's power. 

 

Loki's eyes casually sweep the room, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He is on Midgard, just as planned. The room he finds himself in is large, and the prince guesses that it rests deep within the earth. The cavernous area is lined with glowing technologies, equipment working hard to read and understand a power far too great for humanity.

 

The tesseract. 

 

It sits within the belly of a machine, and he has to force himself to look away from it. 

 

There are mortals in the room, and the agents with guns creep closer with wary caution. However, there are three who watch the God of Mischief in a different manner, whose gazes cut between him and the ornate, golden weapon clasped tightly in his fist.

 

The man dressed in black, the one with the eyepatch that reminds Loki too much of his  _family_ , is the first to speak. "Sir. Please, put down the spear." 

 

This is not a request, but an order, given in a deep, commanding tone. Loki raises an eyebrow, pausing to look down at his golden scepter with an expression of something akin to amusement. 

 

 _It's time_. 

 

In less than a second, before Nick Fury has time to blink, Loki thrusts the blade of the weapon towards him. The blue gem nested in the ornate scepter flashes, and a burst of energy flies towards S.H.I.E.L.D.'s director. 

 

Taking out mortals is almost too easy, especially when compared to a lifetime of facing Asgardian foes. Loki is a blur of motion, cutting through the agents as if they were paper rather than flesh and blood. Their weapons cannot break his skin – guns firing lead bullets that rapidly  _ping_ off his armor one after the other. 

 

The Asgardian leaps into the air, Earth's gravity not quite heavy enough to pull him back right away, and he comes down blade first onto a soldier. The man's breath leaves his lungs in a quiet gasp as he dies, and Loki is disgusted at the  _weakness_. 

 

More guns fire from behind the prince, and he spins around impossibly fast, his hand flashing as his knives fly through the air and meet their targets. Another man attacks from the side, and Loki points his scepter towards the foe. The resulting energy sears through the agent's chest, killing him before his body hits the ground. 

 

It is quiet now, save for the alarms blaring in the distance, continuing to signal the need for escape. Broken machines spark and hiss, flashing readings to no one. Loki watches those left in the room, carefully wiping blood from his scepter's golden blade. 

 

The man with the eyepatch lives, as do several other of his agents. They look to their director, as if awaiting orders. Loki notes that they've been smart enough to stand down after witnessing his carnage, and he decides he'll make use of them. 

 

The Asgardian takes a step forward, habitually spinning his weapon, and is surprised when a fiery-eyed agent attempts to block his path. There is hatred in this man's eyes; an all too familiar burning. No fear lives there. 

 

The man goes for his pistol, but Loki is quicker. He grasps the agent's arm, studying him carefully as he struggles. "You have heart," Loki decides, nodding slowly. 

 

He brings the scepter up to rest upon the center of the man's chest, the sharp blade barely pushing against him. 

 

The effect is instantaneous once the power takes hold. Clint Barton holsters his gun, his sharp gaze overtaken by a mass of starry darkness. And then blue clears the black, leaving irises of bright, piercing cobalt. 

 

The Asgardian notes the quiver strung across the man's back. An archer.  _An odd choice of weapon for a Midgardian._  

 

"Keep watch, won't you?" Loki asks quietly with a smile. 

 

And then it is easy, it is nothing for the prince to move on and do the same to the other nearby agents, the gem within his scepter glowing brightly. 

 

It is a commotion near the side of the room that makes him turn. Someone has entered the room, and they grapple with the archer. At first, Loki does not recognize the intruder. And when he does, he feels nothing but calm curiosity at the reason for her presence. 

 

There is a flash of light, a staff appearing in the girl's hands as she wards off the agent. Loki twirls his scepter again, pondering over whether to send others to deal with the situation. 

 

"I would suggest something with a little more electricity to it," Loki comments idly, his gaze already sliding towards another noise. 

 

The director is attempting to escape, with the tesseract in tow. 

 

"Please don't," Loki requests, meeting the one good eye of Nick Fury. "I still need that." 

 

There's a loud zap followed by a short cry. A body falls to the floor, and Loki knows the girl has been dealt with. 

 

"This doesn't have to get any messier," Fury warns. 

 

Loki laughs softly, the quiet noise devoid of any humor. "Oh, but it does. Much messier." 

 

"Who  _are_ you?" Fury asks, and even Loki is not sure what lies within his tone. 

 

Is it anger? Incredulousness? There is something there, an almost exasperation, that hints at something dangerous. It makes the prince smile. "I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose." 

 

Fury snorts derisively. A bold move, in Loki's opinion. But it is not the director who responds to the Asgardian's statement. 

 

"Loki? Brother of Thor?" 

 

Loki fights the scowl that threatens to spread across his features.  _Thor._ It is his relation to  _Thor_ that defines him to these people. He turns to the man who spoke, and recognizes that he needs this one, too. The scientist. The tip of the golden scepter presses just  _so_ against his chest. 

 

Director Fury watches, his eye widening slightly at the sight of Erik Selvig's gaze being overtaken with an unnatural blackness. He makes himself speak to Loki of Asgard. "We have no quarrel with your people." 

 

The statement is laughable, and so Loki's attention is again directed towards the one-eyed man. "An ant has no quarrel with a boot, nor does prey understand the motives of the hunter. Tell me, which do you think you are? Or is it that unclear?" 

 

His last question is more of a statement, a flat coldness seeping from underneath his casual manner. 

 

"Loki?" 

 

The girl is awake. The archer has left her alive. Was it a fault of the agent, or had Loki subconsciously willed this?  _She could be useful,_ he tells himself to justify this action, to override other possible thoughts of sentiment. It is logical, after all. 

 

"Healer," he greets your friend, Willow. 

 

"Wait," Fury demands, a gloved hand rising to point between Loki and Willow, "you two know each other?" 

 

She's staring at the prince, her eyes wide in disbelief, and Fury's words do not seem to reach her ears. "What are you doing here?" she whispers, carefully rising to her feet. She holds a hand to her side, where the archer had struck her. "Where have you been?" 

 

He watches her take tentative steps forward, and he turns to keep both the girl and Fury in his sight at all times. "I've been on a grand journey," Loki informs Will, a smile once more twisting across his face. "Seen sights you cannot imagine. Learned things you will never comprehend." 

 

"But... but what about...." And she says it. The one thing that breaks through his armor, a single word he does not wish to hear, that he  _cannot_ hear. 

 

She says it. 

 

She says 

 

your 

 

 _name_. 

 

He fights within his mind, pushing things down as soon as they arise: a wash of memories, feelings, sentiments, attachments. His jaw clenches, his muscles drawn tight. And in the end, he wins. 

 

Your friend is still watching him, waiting on an answer. But there's nothing that will make what he has done okay. He is beyond retribution, which is something he feels no need to explain. How can he? The girl has walked to him now, her accusing gaze staring up at him. 

 

"You would not understand, Healer. And you shall not get in my way." 

 

And he lifts his scepter up, the blue gem glowing brightly. It reflects in her eyes as he brings it closer. 

 

\--- 

 

Walking back towards the city of Asgard feels surreal. It's been a few months since you last returned, and you cringe at the thought of seeing the golden palace appear in the distance. The closer you grow to the bustling city, the more your mood begins to dip. You're sliding quickly towards apathy, and those who normally keep your side begin to give you space. 

 

All except Bjorn. 

 

He's told you that his name means 'bear', although you think the term a misnomer. The man isn't a hulking brute like some of the other soldiers you march with. His hair is curly and dark, his skin the warm color of sandy earth. He is stoic, but pleasant to have conversation with. He had been the first to speak to you when you had first set out with the company. 

 

It was nice to hear something other than whispers. 

 

At the thought, words cascade through your mind, bringing with them a flash of heated anger. 

 

 _…_ _He left_ _her, and right before the wedding, too...._  

 

 _…_ _the_ _Prince of Wickedness and the Bloody Warrior...._  

 

 _…_ _why do you think he …._  

 

 _…_ _not worthy of a prince, anyway. Even him...._  

 

 _…_ _perhaps he isn't missing. Maybe she offed him...._  

 

You do your best to ignore the echoes of the past. It's been over a year. No one speaks about it anymore. 

 

Not where you can hear, at least. 

 

"Buck up, now," Bjorn insists, nudging your shoulder. "It'll be good to see the city again." 

 

"I guess," you reply, your voice holding no real emotion. 

 

It makes your walking companion frown. "At least something will be going on in Asgard. I'm bored of roaming the countryside. Our last battle was ages ago." 

 

"A week isn't 'ages ago'," you correct, shrugging. 

 

 _But a year is...._  

 

You beat the thought back, but it doesn't scurry away as fast as you'd like it to. A group of soldiers nearby break out into raucous laughter, and you turn your face away to hide your scowl. 

 

"A dark look at something as bright as laughter," Bjorn comments, and you cut your eyes to his. 

 

You sigh, a small smile lifting the corner of your mouth. "You can go join them, you know. Sounds like Tormund told a mighty funny joke." 

 

"A crass joke, I'd imagine," Bjorn says, chuckling. "By now, we've heard them all. He's not good at making up any new ones." 

 

You allow yourself a short laugh, and then fall into silence once more. 

 

The sun is slowly disappearing over the horizon, and the captain calls for everyone to set up for the night. 

 

Odin Allfather had offered you such a position, but you had declined. For months, you'd set out on your own, doing the king's bidding, fighting his chosen battles. Eventually, others joined you. You did not care who you were with, although you always preferred to go alone. 

 

Thor, the god of thunder, and his companions accompanied your battles at times. However, nowadays, the Warriors Three and their prince are kept too busy within the city to travel. You had thought to be alone again, but Odin had instructed you to fight alongside the Asgardian soldiers. And so you had. 

 

You lie on your back, staring up into the night sky. You can hear the fire crackling, hear the conversations of your campmates. You're tired, but you cannot sleep. You're worried over what your dreams will bring you tonight. 

 

"So, what are your plans, warrior? Once we reach the city?" 

 

You glance over at your fellow soldier. Bjorn lays on his bedroll, his face also upturned to the starry heavens. The night is clear and cloudless. 

 

"I've got a ceremony to attend," you say, looking to the sky once more. "Meeting a friend, and then we're both going. It's a wizard thing." 

 

"A wizard thing?" Bjorn asks curiously. 

 

You grimace. "Sorcerer thing. Whatever, you get what I mean." 

 

The man laughs. "Yes, by now I do." 

 

It helps to have a companion, a friendly voice to listen to. Still, you want to fall silent, to let your mind ease into unconsciousness. But you haven't shaken your apprehension. Your dreams as of late... they've been nothing more than memories, replayed before your closed eyes. You don't want them tonight. 

 

They hurt too much. 

 

\--- 

 

 _You wake with a choked shout, darkness flaring out as a dagger forms in your palm. You're staring frantically around the room, your eyes seeking_ _danger. Sweating and shaking, your mind replays your dream, the blood_ _vivid, the pain all too real._  

 

 _And then a cool hand wraps around your wrist, easing the dagger from your grasp._  

 

 _"You're alright, love," a_   _voice soothes. "It's fine."_  

 

 _Only now can you truly take in your surroundings. The familiar, extravagant_ _room, the_ _silky bedsheets beneath your legs_ _._   _The moonlight filtering in through the emerald_ _curtains highlights the table where you love to draw, your bag sitting in one of the chairs._  

 

_The cool hand pulls you back, your dagger disappearing from his pale fingers and into the shadows from whence it came. You sink down to the bed, your warm back pressed against the smooth skin of his chest._

 

 _"A dream," you murmur sleepily, your fingers intertwining with his as he lays an arm across your waist._  

 

 _You can feel his breath in your hair, his arm hugging you closer to him. "A dream, and nothing more," Loki whispers._  

 

And then you wake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's a lot of names under the 'gift' section lol  
> Let me explain  
> First of all, this whole series is a gift to ShootingStarSojourner, who is my bestie irl. I originally wrote OSE for her. :P  
> I gifted this part of the series to Auria223 for their awesome comments and the pieces of !FANART! that they did (which you can find on my Tumblr blog).  
> I gifted to sunmoonandstars for being an awesome supporter with great, thoughtful comments, as well as recommending my series to their own readers. <3  
> And finally, FlightlessAngelWings, lovetoread2much, and Iplaydead have been fantastic consistent commenters that always made my day.  
> I know there's more of you out there that supported me and commented on almost every chapter, and I want to thank all of you for being absolutely amazing. :_)  
> I love all of my readers, and you guys are why I publish on AO3. Thank you!


	2. Strange Familiarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeezums, it's been a hot minute since I published a chapter.  
> I apologize. I had to wrangle my mental health and anxiety these past few weeks, so thanks for being patient with me. <3  
> I've also had to switch to Microsoft Online to write my chapters, and the formatting is always a little funky when I try to copy it over. :/ Sorry about some of the weird gaps. I try to go back in the html and fix them, but a lot of times it's hard to find where they are!  
> ANYWAY  
> Let's get back into this!

 You decide to focus on the dust. 

 

The spring day is hot, the sky unbearably blue and full of puffy, white clouds. You notice birds flitting from tree to tree, tittering as the people passing by disturb them. There’s laughter in the ranks, boisterous and loud as the soldiers approach their home, their city. They let out a joyous cheer as the first sight of the palace rises on the horizon, as golden as the sun itself. 

 

It’s an absolutely beautiful afternoon that does not match your mood. 

 

And so you focus on the dust. It billows around the marching army, the dry spell making every footstep kick up an earthen cloud. There are many feet on this path, and the dust sits in your nose as a result. You can taste it, you blink it from your eyes, and it is the only negative thing you try to dwell on. 

 

Because the other is looming in the distance, glinting in the light; a golden taunt, already loud in your ears, although you’ve yet to look upon it. You focus on the feet, the taste of earth in your mouth. On the dust. 

 

“Where will you go?” Bjorn asks. 

 

You glance over at the soldier, whose brown eyes are locked on the palace ahead. You look back to trees and the complaining birds. “The ceremony’s at the guild. So, guess I’ll be at the back of the palace grounds.” 

 

“Would you mind awfully if I accompanied you?” the man asks, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword – a nervous habit. “I require a break from this crowd, and they’re all that’ll be awaiting me in the barracks.” 

 

You understand why it is that he asks. Bjorn is a foreigner, too; he has no one to visit once he returns to the city. His family does not reside in Asgard, although he’s told you he sends a fair amount of gold back to them. Back to his home. 

 

 _Why haven’t you come home?_  

 

A past echo of a prince’s voice, and still it makes you grimace. These things always get worse when you have to return to the city. Bjorn sees the expression that crosses your features and immediately jumps to apologize. “I don’t mean to impose, of course. I can always walk the market.” 

 

“No, it’s fine,” you state, waving your hand dismissively. “It just might bore you is all. I’m meeting up with a friend for a bit, and it’s a ceremony, so it’ll just be all of us standing silently in a crowd. Not the most exciting time.” 

 

Bjorn chuckles, white teeth flashing as he smiles over at you. “I do not fear boredom or silence, my friend. But I shan’t come if you do not wish me to.” 

 

You return his smile. “If you want to, I wont stop you.” 

 

“Very well,” Bjorn states, nodding as he returns his gaze to the city ahead. “Quite a sight though, isn’t it? Never do get used to it.” 

 

You finally allow yourself to lay eyes upon the golden city of Asgard. It is now stunning once more, the restorations completed, the city whole again. 

 

One would never have guessed that a little more than a year ago, most of the grand houses and buildings had fallen as Asgard’s foes laid waste to the city. No, now its previously destroyed buildings were raised up from their ashes, as if they had never burned. By all appearances, everything is as it should be. 

 

But you know better. 

 

“Never do,” you agree with Bjorn, focusing again on the dust. 

 

\--- 

 

Sigrid is worried about leaving Brenna home alone. Asmund's mother is unwell, although Sigrid notes that her mind is slowly healing. There are many days that the woman lives in the past, acting almost as her normal self. She works her shop, socializes with customers, speaks of her sorcerer son and his talent. And there are other days where she is aware, too aware of what has happened to her family.

 

It's usually in the dead of night. Her cries of panic and confusion always send Sigrid down the hall with comforting words and care. These nights are usually followed by long days of needlework, of the woman sitting in a chair by her hearth. The sewing keeps her hands busy, keeps her fragile mind occupied. Sigrid sits with her when she can, silently embroidering her commissions from the shop, so that Brenna does not have to be alone. 

 

But today, Sigrid leaves the poor woman to her own devices. Brenna sits by the hearth as she always does, needle in hand, and she wishes Sigrid a good day as the girl locks the door. 

 

Brenna did not want to attend the ceremony, even when Sigrid had pled, had said that it would greatly please Asmund. Brenna had smiled, but the girl could see panic building in her blue eyes. 

 

And so Sigrid had gone on her own. 

 

There is already a crowd gathered outside of the sorcerer's guild. A small platform has been erected, with seven pillars of gold lining the back. The Asgardian palace grounds are as green as ever, the foliage blossoming with life and beauty. On either side of the stage are small swathes of calla lilies, and the sight makes Sigrid smile. 

 

Asmund still thinks of her. 

 

Sigrid scans the area and almost immediately spots you. You’re already in the crowd, hovering at the back as if you’re uncomfortable being present. 

 

She draws closer, and when you meet her golden gaze, a true smile breaks across her face. 

 

Seeing you is an almost-relief. You are alive, for one. You sport a new, thin scar across your left cheek, but she knows it will vanish within the next few days. Your leathers are in need of repair, which she’ll offer to do once the ceremony has reached its conclusion. You’ve seen battle recently, but you are alive and well, and that is what matters. 

 

“You came,” Sigrid says, her gratefulness apparent in her tone. 

 

“I did,” you tell her, giving her a warm smile. You jab a thumb towards your fellow solider. “Bjorn came along as well this time.” 

 

“Pleasure to officially meet you,” Sigrid states, realizing that you do indeed have a companion standing beside you. 

 

“Pleasure’s mine, Miss,” the man answers respectfully. 

 

Bjorn looks exactly as you’ve described him to her. She wonders why he wanted to attend a ceremony for a young man he does not know. 

 

Regardless, there is no time to ask. The ceremony begins as the masters of the guild step up onto the platform. The crowd claps politely, Bjorn following suit, but you and the girl do not. 

 

The both of you watch as Asmund walks up and stands before the guild masters. You haven't seen him in months, and you're almost taken aback by how he's grown. He's not such a half-pint anymore. His shaggy, brown hair is pulled back away from his face, allowing all to see that his determined blue gaze is locked onto the man in charge of the guild. 

 

This man should be Loki, Prince of Sorcery. Instead, it is the Master Hammond, a familiar face that sends a pang of loss through your chest. It is how you feel when you see Asgard, when you walk the palace grounds, when you see those Loki once held company with. It makes the loss of the prince even more apparent. It makes you sick. 

 

How different it is now, since the last time you stood here. 

 

Hammond is speaking, but you do not hear. You are present for Sigrid and her half-pint, Asmund, not the ceremony itself. It passes in a blur, the words, the vows. Asmund is finally presented with sorcerers' robes of gold, to match the color of his magic. The crowd claps happily, some cheering the young man as he takes his place among the masters. 

 

You know Sigrid is tense at your side, watching the proceedings with a mask of bravery. This change means her beloved will see less of his family, of her, and more of war. It is a powerful position to hold, but the exchange is time and danger. 

 

You reach out and take her hand. 

 

She's a girl much too young to be holding such responsibility. She reminds you of yourself. The worlds were cruel to you, and you pray to whatever is listening that she will not suffer the same fate. 

 

She clasps your hand tightly, her face impassive as she watches Asmund bow to the crowd. 

 

He wears a similar expression. 

 

\--- 

 

You, Bjorn, and Sigrid have made it around the front of the palace, politely chatting as you avoid the dispersing crowd. You've decided to walk the market after all, and invite your companions to join you. It will be good to buy food before night falls and you retire to the barracks. Bjorn reminds you of the feast hall, of the celebration tonight in honor of the soldiers' return. 

 

"I'd rather not," you state, successfully keeping the tightness from your voice. "I'm not really into the whole 'feast' thing." 

 

Bjorn purses his lips, nodding his head and opening his mouth to speak. 

 

"Warrior!" 

 

The three of you turn, surprised by the interruption. Sigrid and Bjorn immediately dip into bows as the god of thunder approaches. He looks ever the same, blond and brawny, although you'd wager that his beard has grown longer. You grin weakly at Thor Odinson, your gaze taking in his smile, his regal attire... and the ornate eyepatch that covers his left eye. 

 

You still feel guilty every time you see it. 

 

"Hey, Thor," you say, raising your hand in greeting. "Good to see you!" 

 

"Aye, likewise," Thor comments. "It is good that I caught you, warrior. We've servants out at the barracks to fetch you. You've been asked to the throne room." 

 

"Ah," you say, for lack of anything better. "Alright, then. Wonder what it'll be this time." 

 

"I know not," Thor answers, shrugging his broad shoulders. "I'd only overheard that they search for you." 

 

"Huh. Thanks, then. You coming, too?" you ask him, nodding your head towards the grand entrance of the golden palace. 

 

"Not today," Thor states. "I've other business." The god of thunder seems exhausted, and yet still he manages to give you another smile. "Perhaps we'll work together again, should my father will it." 

 

"Maybe so," you say. "See you around, then." 

 

"Stay safe," Thor Odinson tells you, and he briefly rests a heavy hand on your shoulder before he walks away. 

 

You turn back to your two companions, apologies already on your lips. You're met instead with Sigrid wrapping her arms around you. The contact shocks you, but you quickly shake it and return the gesture. You miss the girl. You miss a lot of people. 

 

"Listen to Thor," Sigrid advises you as she pulls away. "Stay safe. And if you aren't required to leave right away, come by the shop so that I can mend your leathers." 

 

"Yeah, yeah, alright. I'll see you soon," you acquiesce, a small smile on your face. 

 

The girl makes her departure, and you turn to your fellow soldier. "Don't know how long I'll be." 

 

"Don't worry," Bjorn insists, thumb hooking around his belt. He nods his head towards the Asgardian palace. "Go on. Best not keep the Allfather waiting." 

 

"Thanks," you say, giving him a half-smile as you turn to go. 

 

The palace is a daunting, golden monstrosity that threatens to swallow you whole. You walk through its wide maw and into the belly of the beast, down its throat to familiar marble halls. 

 

The palace leaves you feeling lost, your memories chasing ghosts that no longer reside in the grand building. 

 

The throne room is large, with banners and archways and torches and golden columns positioned around the walls. Intricate metalwork laces across the throne, crafting geometric patterns and swirls, some of which are repeated in the etchings of the marble floor. It is a grandeur that no longer impresses you. You've never understood the necessity of ornate Asgardian design. 

 

Your eyes go immediately to the throne, where you expect to find the Allfather and his guards. The golden seat, however, is quite empty. There is a sole person standing to its side, her gray eyes watching you expectantly. 

 

You complete your walk down the throne room and stand before Frigga Allmother, taking a knee at once. She is one you do not mind showing respect to. "Queen Frigga." 

 

"My lady," she replies, her voice softer than you had been expecting. 

 

There is something wrong, you can tell. The queen guards her emotions well, remains poised and regal, but her hands clench together, her mouth drawn tight. You rise and take a hesitant step forward, worry filling your gaze. "What is it?" you ask. 

 

Frigga searches for a way to explain, to begin to say what she has brought you here to tell you. She finally chooses the same two words that Heimdall had stated to Odin Allfather. The two words that Odin had then whispered to his wife. She tells them now, to you. 

 

"He lives." 

 

\--- 

 

Loki sits alone in the dark apartment, his eyes unfocused as he stares at the bland wall across the room. The golden scepter lies across his lap, the gem glowing slightly and illuminating the empty room in a cool blue. He is tired – exhausted even – but the odd meditation is undeniably preferable to sleep. Sleep brings dreams, visions and threats hissed from across worlds, which leaves him awakening more tired still. But a god does not need rest every night, and so he makes do. 

 

His underground "lab" of sorts is nearby, although Loki does not wish to reside among those he's taken hold of. He needs to be alone, to clear his mind and think... plan. The little room was not hard to acquire, and he has a man standing guard in the hall. As for the others, he's left Agent Barton in charge. The man seems more than capable of leading, and his knowledge of S.H.I.E.L.D. is invaluable. Your little friend helps him and Selvig with whatever they require. 

 

The doctor works on the tesseract. He's making grand progress, but it is not fast enough for Loki's taste. And the Other. He always speaks of making haste, lest everything fall through. Loki has no qualms about this urgency. He's always hated latency. 

 

And yet, he reminds himself; it won't be long, now. 

 

And he smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I've got to get through the setup before we get to the good stuff! Bear with me :P


	3. Undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so tired  
> I saw Thor: Ragnarok  
> I want to see it, like, another 1,000 times  
> There's something in it that happens that I want to scream about but I don't want to spoil it for anyone  
> Did I mention I'm tired?  
> That is all

You stare blankly at the Allmother, your mind repeating her words over and over. It's as if she speaks a foreign language; the sounds simply do not make sense. Although you've yet to understand, to form any kind of coherent response, your body reacts to the knowledge Frigga has given you.

Your heart picks up – it's a drummer pounding out a rhythm in your chest, the resulting beat deafening only to your ears. Your stomach feels as if it has vanished, leaving behind an empty hole where worry once festered.

"What?" you ask in a whisper, sure that you have misheard her, misunderstood the meaning behind her words.

"He lives, child," Frigga tells you once more. "Loki is alive."

The name of the lost prince banishes the growing feeling of relief, your missing stomach returning and now full of writhing snakes. You don't realize you're clenching your fists until your nails bite into your palms, breaking the skin and leaving red crescent moons.

"Where?" You feel as if you're simple, as if the news has whisked away your vocabulary and left you with only single-worded questions.

"My son is upon the realm of Midgard," Frigga says, working hard to keep any emotion out of her voice. "Why that is, I cannot fathom."

You swallow, forcing yourself to accept it, to move past it, to not ask another one-worded question. The face of Thor flashes through your thoughts, his exhausted expression. "Does Thor know?"

Frigga watches you carefully as she shakes her head. "Odin is meeting with him later."

You catch it this time, the solemn undertone of her words that makes you put two and two together. "It's dangerous," you realize quietly. "You don't want Thor to go. Something happened."

"I sent five of the palace guard," the queen says, holding your gaze. "None have returned."

"And you called me here," you state, cold anger worming its way into your chest as you think, as everything starts to finally set in. "Just to tell me? Because you know I have to go."

"I know," Frigga agrees, her features stiff and rigid, as if she was sculpted from the same marble as the Asgardian halls. "I called you here, child, because I know you will return."

There is a certain finality in her voice, one that leaves you uneasy. There are words unspoken, hidden in her sentence.

_The guards now rest in Valhalla. But you... he wouldn't harm_ **_you_ ** _._

"It doesn't matter," you tell Queen Frigga. "Either way, it doesn't matter."

And her regal mask breaks for a brief moment, for less than a second. You see a burning woman, her kind gray eyes filled with painful, distraught  _worry_ for her family, for those she loves, and yes, for you as well.

For Frigga is mother to all, especially the lost and broken.

"The guards will have retrieved your belongings from the barracks," Frigga tells you, taking one of your hands in between her own. "They await you outside."

The Allmother's touch stings the four bloody semicircles in your palm. "Will Heimdall have a more specific location for me? Earth is pretty big," you say flatly.

"There's no need," Frigga tells you, and then touches two fingers to your forehead.

At once, your gaze is gone from Asgard, from the golden throne room. You see instead an average-looking concrete building, unremarkable save for two men staring out from the shadow of its doorway, towards the quickly setting sun.

"This is where Heimdall last saw him," Frigga's voice tells you. "This is where we sent the guards."

You blink and find yourself back in the palace, staring once more into the face of the Allmother. You feel her magic's presence lingering in your mind, pulling you towards the place she revealed to you. She releases your hand and steps away respectfully, and you realize the sting in your palms has vanished. She's healed both of your hands, the crescents completely erased.

"Thank you," you tell her, although you feel as if this is the wrong thing to say. But what else is there? "I'm... I'm going now."

And Frigga bows her head, her braided blonde hair catching the light beautifully. She is the epitome of a queen, one of hope and strength. Even in her distress, she is regal.

And you turn from her, a chaotic, troubled mess.

\---

Sigrid thinks it is Brenna who enters through the back door of the shop, and she calls out a greeting as she continues sorting and restocking the selection of herbs. But it is the voice of her beloved that answers, and it makes her drop a few bundles in surprise. She sets the rest to the side.

"Asmund?" Sigrid questions, turning to face him where he stands behind the counter. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course," he answers, a smile flashing across his face.

It's not the same grin he used to wear. They both know it. But this one seems genuine enough, and it prompts a smile of her own. "That's excellent. I wasn't sure when I'd see you again, now that you're a  _master_ sorcerer."

Asmund smirks conspiratorially. "I'm supposed to be utterly overcome to have such an honor bestowed upon me. But I don't feel much different, if I'm being honest. Don't tell the others."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sigrid replies, walking over and wrapping her arms around him.

He returns her embrace, the familiar smell of basil wafting over him. She's still got a few herb bundles in her dress pockets, waiting to be put away. It reminds him of when he was younger, running about the shop to help his mother set up the product bins.

"I've come for a purpose, you know," Asmund says to Sigrid, his voice muffled in her dark hair.

"What's that?" Sigrid questions curiously, peering up at him.

He's lost in the gold of her eyes for a moment, and it feels right, feels good. He'd rather be lost in her than in the past or present. She grounds him, makes him feel as if he still has something solid in his life. And he can't lose that. He doesn't want to.

"Sigrid, I love you," Asmund states. He waits a beat before continuing. "I'm a master of the guild now, which means long days and nights of training and studying. I'll probably have to travel, and go to war. And... well... I won't lie. It'll be hard for us. I... I want to give you an out. If this is too much for you, if you'd rather –"

She doesn't let him finish. "Don't be stupid!" Sigrid's cheeks go red at the outburst, but she still shakes her head and lets out a weak laugh. "I won't be going anywhere. My place is with you. I am proud of you and your accomplishments, Asmund. And I...." She trails off and then looks away. "I'm well aware of what it all means. And I'm willing to accept that. I love you, and that is that."

A boyish glee passes over Asmund's expression, clearing away the stoic man he has become. He picks her up and twirls her, her orange skirt billowing out as he does so. And they laugh together, alone in their shop, as he sets her back on her feet and holds her close.

He lowers his face to hers and kisses her, then pulls away and asks, "Marry me, then? If you're intent on staying by my side, I'd much rather it be as my wife."

\---

You backtrack through the beautiful halls, your mind numb as you focus on your goal. Get to the entrance. Get your pack from the guards. Get to Earth.

It's simple, and it would have remained simple had you not had a soldier awaiting you outside of the palace. Bjorn approaches, dark brows furrowed as he watches you accept your bag from a palace guard. "What's this?"

"Bjorn," you say, the sight of him bringing your racing thoughts to a grinding halt. "I.... Well, something's come up. And I've got to leave. I'm sorry."

The man gives you a slow nod, his hand habitually resting on his sword handle. "Ah, that's alright. Where the Allfather sends you, you must go. I will miss our companionable silences, however."

He's jesting, the sentence followed by a grin. Your mind is spinning, and it's all you can do to keep your feet at this point. Bjorn's smile fades, and he carefully puts a hand on your shoulder. "Warrior, are you well?"

His hand is not heavy, as Thor's always is. Even so, you're surprised at how familiar this Asgardian gesture has become to you.

"No," you say, the word escaping before you're able to stop it. It's as if someone other than you had uttered it. "No, I'm... I'm not. I feel like I'm dreaming. Or... like my life just got turned upside down. I don't fucking know, I just...."

You shake your head, ignoring a group of nobles who eye you and mutter about your swear. You don't have the time or the want to explain everything to Bjorn, friend or not. But he seems to sense that this is something big, something that will change everything.

This is not Odin sending you to fight a different battle in the name of the realm. This is something that has shaken you to your core, and it unnerves him to see you this way.

Bjorn doesn't know what to do, but he knows he's running out of time in this conversation. You stare up at him and rub your face, shifting your bag to a more comfortable position on your shoulders. "I... I've gotta' go."

You start to turn away, but his voice calls you back. "Will I see you again?"

The question hurts more than you'd like to admit. He's the only  _true_ friend you've made within the army. Sure, there are others you enjoy the company of, but none that put up with your surly mood swings. You and Bjorn are both outsiders to this nation, and it built a certain rapport between the two of you. You cannot look at him as you shake your head. "I... I really don't think so."

"Ah," Bjorn replies, clearing his throat. "Aye, alright then."

You extend your arm to him, a farewell between soldiers. Comrades. The both of you grasp forearms, and the action makes your throat tight. "Thanks, Bjorn."

_For everything,_ you think to yourself.  _For not treating me any different from the rest. For not whispering._

He nods, brown eyes searching your face, and just as you start to pull your arm away, he leans in and kisses you.

His lips are soft, and warm, and full of 'what ifs'.

But you are not  _soft_.

And you pull away, already shaking your head, already vanishing into the shadows before his eyes. You close the dark rift you had created, separating yourself from Asgard and its soldier.

You are finally alone in the darkness, your power allowing you to traverse where others cannot.

It is always quiet in this alternate space, but you fill it with a single, dry sob. You bend over and put your hands on your knees as you focus on breathing deeply, blinking away any tears before they fall.

It would be easy to break here, where no one else can see you. Because it's been a year, and even then, nothing ever feels right anymore. Because finding out that the prince is alive is too much. Because you're  _furious_.

\---

Frigga's magic creates a pull in your mind that leads you through your dark passageways, past echoes of the world around you, which zoom by in a blur as you travel. It takes mere seconds to locate the building she showed you.

You step out of the shadows and into an alleyway nearby, the exhaustion of using so much power and energy hitting you almost physically. You lean over and press your forehead against the cool concrete wall, sucking in air through your teeth. It takes you a minute to adjust, and the entire time you feel extremely exposed.

The encroaching night helps soothe this fear, however. The sun has recently set, the sky to the west a deep indigo with stars already dotting the heavens. It clears your head, settles your thoughts, and you feel Frigga's magic once more tugging you towards the building across the street.

You creep up the alley, eyes searching for the two men you had seen in the Allmother's vision. But even as you stare at the building in front of you, something deep in your mind whispers that Loki does not reside here. The thought grows louder and louder until you cannot ignore it. You have no good explanation, nothing to base this thought upon.

It's simply because if it was  _you_ that had set up an operation such as this, you would not sleep within.

You know that he’s aware anyone looking for him will attack the base. No, he won’t be there. You bet that he'll be somewhere nearby; close enough to hear if any trouble arises, but far enough away to flee if he deems it necessary.

And so you mentally sever the pull of Frigga's magic and begin to search with your eyes instead of your mind.

Your gaze lands on an apartment complex on the corner, where a sign boasts 'Grand Opening Coming Soon! Luxury Apartment Homes'.

And you roll your eyes.

\---

The thud of a body hitting the floor shakes Loki from his trance. His eyes shoot towards the source of the noise, and he's displeased to hear movement from outside of the room's door. His guard has fallen, it would seem.

Someone has found him.

He rises from the chair and rolls his shoulders, swinging his scepter up towards the door. He figures his visitors will be S.H.I.E.L.D., a mass of agents, maybe even the one-eyed Director Fury himself. Humans never learn. If they wish to die in droves by his hand, so be it.

Loki's sharp gaze watches as the door handle jiggles – it's obviously locked. The idiocy of the situation makes him sigh. He waits for the inevitable smash and splintering of wood as the agents kick in the door.

It never comes.

Instead, there is a silent  _tear_ in the middle of the room, a rift opening, a familiar darkness expanding out from the seam. And it makes him freeze, makes him forget to draw breath as he watches, disbelieving.

Then out you step, across the room from Loki Laufeyson.

A simple action.

And in an instant, everything in his mind comes undone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: "When 'Hey, it's been a while.' Just Isn't Gonna Cut It"  
> ;p
> 
> Also:  
> MY KIDS ARE GROWING UP, GONNA DO THE MARRIAGE, ACK MY STONE COLD HEART HAS FEELINGS, SEND HELP


	4. Types of Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wellllllll, angstville, here we come, guys  
> Little warning here, this chapter delves down in the NSFW for a bit towards the end.

You stare into the face of a stranger, who watches you intensely.

The dim room is absolutely silent, lit only by the blue glow of the scepter in Loki's hand. The shock of actually locating him keeps your tongue still, your thoughts too chaotic to voice. Your entire body is rigid, your jaw clenched so tightly your teeth begin to hurt.

You cannot seem to look away from him.

Loki stands near the wall, dressed in his familiar green regalia. The ornate clothing and leather armor are as pristine as ever, but you cannot say the same for the prince.

He is but a shell of himself, of the Loki from your memories. He has always been pale, but now his skin seems unnaturally white, all color drained from it. His dark hair, normally slicked back, is longer now, more chaotic and wild. Dark circles sit beneath his eyes, strikingly noticeable and loudly screaming for a night's sleep. And his  _eyes_ , these eyes that stare at you from across the room, they are not the ones you remember. Gone are the glittering emeralds, removed from their sockets and replaced with burning sapphires. You're trapped by them, paralyzed by this physical change that you cannot understand.

"Ahh," he finally says, the noise hushed in the dark room, and he puts a hand to his head.

He hurts. There's a part of Loki that bellows angrily in his mind, spitting orders, telling him to  _look away, kill her before she becomes a problem, fight or flee, act now or it will be too late, she jeopardizes everything, at least turn her if you're going to stand there,_ ** _what are you doing_** _?_

_Don't hurt her._

He doesn't know why, but it makes his head  _ache_. He searches your face, the familiar angles and planes, the steel (stars, the  _steel_ ) in your eyes as you look at him. He takes in your tattered leathers, catalogues the rips that mean blades bit into your flesh during battle.

With the silence broken at last, you find your words. "You're alive."

His gaze (the blue is so  _wrong_!) shoots once more to your face, two pinpoints of ice in the dark. And he says nothing.

So, you say more.

"You're. Alive." You can feel your fury building, roaring up from your chest and into your throat. You try in vain to swallow it. Your next inquiry is quieter, more restrained. "Do you know how long it's been?"

You wait with clenched fists for a reply. Loki holds his silence, his expression impassive. It tears at you, rips another question from you in a shout, your voice like the sharp crack of a whip. " ** _DO YOU_**?!"

"Three hundred and seventy-two days," he answers abruptly, his lips pressing together into a thin line once the words have escaped.

"A  _year_!" you shriek. " _A year_! God, I could  _kill you_! What the ACTUAL – FUCK, Loki?! What the fuck?!" You suck in a huge breath, doing your best to calm down. And then you think about it. "No, you know what? We're  _not_  going to talk about this calmly. We've  _done_ the calm, mature thing before. I AM GOING TO SCREAM AT YOU."

He quirks an eyebrow, but again, says nothing. Something in him still calls for your subdual, and that something simply cannot comprehend why he does not act. What makes him stand and watch, eyes taking you in after so long, catching your every furious gesture?

And he remembers, all at once, a night in his bed with you by his side. You were angry with him, your voice low and tired. It floats through his thoughts, pushing back the louder voice that demands he hurt you. ' _Let's just try to be calm and mature, okay?'_

Loki's silence makes you all the more wrathful. "You're an absolute  _fucking asshole_! You left!  _You fucking left_! No real explanation, just a bunch of cryptic ass bullshit! And now, like, what, you're on EARTH?! A year of nothing, and then just," you deepen your voice, making it as dramatic as possible, "'Hmm, yes, Midgard. Humans and mortals and such. That's where I'd like to be. Love me some of that!' I mean, WHAT THE HELL? What the FUCK are you doing here, in this shitty ass apartment in a dead ass town?! The  _fuck_ , Loki?!"

_Don't answer,_ his inner voice hisses.

But you don't pause long enough, you can't bear the thought of him remaining silent, and so you just continue shouting, screaming out everything you've been holding in. "You're a dick, you know that?! A heartless bastard! People talk, they said all sorts of stuff, and I just…. It's like, what, the ultimate trick, right?" You hate it, you hate everything, and your eyes fill with angry tears. "Get a girl to love you and then ditch out on her right before the wedding! The Trickster God, everybody!" You gesture from him to an invisible crowd around the room and then slowly clap your hands. "There you have it! Hope you've been having a  _good_ laugh!  **Asshole**!"

Loki opens his mouth, expression conflicted – a mix of bitter anger and something else, something you  _almost_ recognize as regret – and that's when you really lose it. You lack any more words to express yourself, and an outraged shout escapes from behind your bared teeth. " _No_!" you scream, clenched fists releasing so you can wipe at your eyes. "NO! Don’t start."

The apartment is barren of anything truly good for throwing, but you make do. You sling your bag from your shoulders and promptly chunk it at the Prince of Lies. "No excuses, you  _bastard_!"

He catches it by the strap with his free hand, the momentum of your throw causing its body to thump him on the chest. He looks up at you again, a hint of incredulousness breaking through the blue ice. You're looking for something else to throw, but the apartment living room is lacking of objects other than generic furniture. Too big to quickly hurl at him.

"Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?" Loki asks, his voice tight but still ringing with authority.

His first true words to you in a year, and he says  _that_?! "No!" you shout back, wiping at your eyes again. “No, I don’t, you unreliable piece of… you twisted bastard… you… you…!”

The damn tears won't stop. Your speech devolves into loud strings of swears as your feet automatically carry you closer to the prince. Your fists are clenched, your whole body taut, and you're half convinced you're going to sock him in the jaw once you reach him.

Loki drops your bag, and again, his hand goes to his head, his eyes closed, face drawn tight as if he's in pain. "Don't." He snaps out the order, the warning clear in his tone.

_Stay back,_ it says.  _It's dangerous._

You've never been much for heeding warnings. You fell in love with the God of Lies, after all. You stop in front of him, less than an arm's length away. "I hate you!" you say heatedly, your face flushed from your rage. "I  _fucking_ hate you!"

And in the blink of an eye, you shove him. His back loudly hits the drywall, and it cracks from the force, but in an instant he's lunging forward, hand wrapping around your right wrist, squeezing too tightly. He's in your guard, the golden scepter pushing against your left arm, and the cold metal sends chills across your skin.

"Choose your next words  _carefully_ ," Loki snarls, his breath ghosting across your cheek.

Your tears do nothing to lessen the seething anger in your glare. "Fucking do it then,” you tell him. “I was supposed to die years ago."

_Turn her,_ his inner voice orders.  _Her powers are beyond useful. Between her and the healer, you_ _m_ _ay not even need the_ _Chitauri_ _._ _Either way, she must be dealt with._ _Kill her or turn her, you fool. Do it now_ _!_

The gem in the scepter begins to glow brighter, the blade tilting towards you. You don’t break eye contact with him, staring him down as you wait.

His right hand begins to shake; the motion exemplified by the quaking light of the scepter in the dark room. He doesn’t notice. He’s glaring down at you, teeth bared in anger and frustration.

_Don't hurt her._

_It wouldn’t hurt_ , his inner voice argues.  _Turning them doesn’t hurt._

“What are you waiting for?” you hiss, flexing your fingers on the hand he holds captive. “If you want a fight, I’ll fight.”

“I don’t want a fight,” he snaps, the words tumbling from his lips without permission.

“Then what  _do_  you want, Loki?” you ask in exasperation, snarling up at him as you try and fail to jerk your hand from his grasp. “Because I am about two seconds away from setting fire to this whole fucking town.”

_Do it_ ** _now_**! his mind screams.

The scepter trembles in his grasp, his knuckles white against the gold. Every muscle in his body works to push the weapon closer to you, to have the blade brush lightly against your skin.

It should be easy.

It isn’t.

His left hand is the first to betray a lost part of him, his thumb mindlessly rubbing across your wrist. An affectionate habit born of useless sentiment. His unnatural blue glare is fierce as he stares at you.

Loki lowers the scepter, uses it to push your left arm down. His eyes narrow into a calculating look that you recognize all too well. “I’ve decided to let you live, despite the insufferable  _insolence_ you’ve displayed here tonight. Be gone from me, or has my absence not been clear enough? You should never have sought me out. I don’t care what you’ve come for, whether it was of your own volition or another’s. You’ll leave at once, by my grace, and you’d best hurry before I change my mind.”

“I can’t,” you state shortly.

His nostrils flare at the statement, black eyebrows rising dangerously on his forehead. “You always were a fool, so eager to throw away your life. Why, then? What keeps you here?”

“You’re holding onto my wrist,” you growl out.

Loki’s fingers are still wrapped securely around your wrist, so tightly that you fear you’ll soon lose circulation. You watch as his sharp gaze finally leaves yours, cutting to the side as he stares at his hand.

“This is your fault,” he hisses, blue eyes flaring as he looks back to you.

“I haven’t done anything!” you retort, your numb fingers curling into a fist. Your other arm presses against the scepter, pushing roughly against it.

You're going to punch him.

“You sought me out,” Loki says from behind clenched teeth. His nose practically brushes against yours as he leans closer. “ _You weren’t supposed to be here._ ”

“Start. Making. Sense.” Each word is punctuated by a jerk from your fist, but still, he does not let go. You prepare to step back into the shadows, gathering your energy and flexing your fingers.

"But nothing makes sense, don't you see?" he says to you. "I see it. And that's the  _beauty_ of it all."

You're too close to him. Even your  _scent_ is familiar, bringing up past nostalgias that he didn't ask for. He'd committed it to memory after all, one that ambition had snuffed out. But here he stands with you once more, and the both of you glare at one another in  _hatred,_ and such a thing is all too reminiscent.

The scepter vanishes from Loki's grip, the sudden absence causing the arm you'd had pressed against it to rocket forward. You follow it through, with purpose. Your fist collides with his side, producing a satisfying sound that you're sure means a bruise.

Loki barely seems to notice. He still hasn't released you, and you still haven't backed away, and you're too angry to try to understand what that means. He's scowling at you when he tilts his head and roughly presses his cold lips to the side of your neck.

You're back in the halls of Asgard, taking the hand of a prince as he leads you quickly to his room. The night when he swore to you that you could both forego the messy emotions –  _complications_ –that such an act would bring.

This is not about something as soft as love. This is wild and violent anger, and forgiveness plays no part.

It's been a  _year_.

The fist that collided with Loki's side clutches at the leather, and you can feel your pulse point racing beneath his teeth. You shudder at the familiar sensation, which makes you glare at the cracked drywall over his shoulder. You manage to finally pull your wrist from his grasp, his chilly fingers leaving behind red marks on your skin. "What the fuck are you doing?" you ground out, failing to keep your voice from wavering.

You were already close, but he tugs you closer still, lifting his face from your neck as he fluidly slides one of his daggers from his belt. "As you've said, it's been a year," he breathes, flipping the blade around and holding it up to your collar. He meets your gaze with a mean, chilling look, and you'd swear, you'd  _swear_ , those stranger's eyes flashed green. "And we've yet to kill one another, although I'm sure that's still very much at play."

"It would be easier," you state coolly, "to just fight it out now. Get it over with."

His free hand runs across your shoulder and then grasps it much too tightly. "It would be," he agrees, those blue eyes altogether too close to you again. "But there's no fun in an easy victory, darling."

And he jerks the dagger down. It slices through your leather chest piece, catching on the material and nicking skin in the process. You shove him back again, his shoulders further breaking the drywall. But once more, instead of moving away, you step up. Loki's hand and the dagger are trapped between the two of you, the flat of the blade cold against your stomach. His other hand has traveled from your shoulder to your back, fingers sliding underneath your ruined leathers and gripping forcefully at your skin.

"There's no victory here, bastard," you hiss. "God, I hate you."

And then you kiss him, all tongue and teeth, and you find that while he has a stranger's eyes, his lips still make sense. You hear the dagger fall, although the sting it left behind is only intensified when Loki's hand pushes up to your chest. His whole body is stiff beneath your fingers as you search for other familiarities. His shoulders are the same, his jaw, the texture of his hair. You grab a fistful as you kiss him, and he quickly returns the painful favor.

Loki feels as if he's falling, memories parading past his eyes of nights like this, thoughts he'd pushed away. It was easy to push without you here. His head aches, his mind shouting words like  _logic_ , and  _power_ , and  _fool_. It  _burns_ him, this rage. He's back in the hallway outside of your door, when your hands clutched at him, your thumbs skated across his cheekbones.

With your lips on his, fierce and insistent, a face swims in his mind's eye. Images flicker, different scenes blinking in and out erratically. It makes him freeze, his brow furrowed as he pulls away from you. His glare is icy with dangerous anger. "Who is this man?"

"Trying to figure that out myself," you answer breathlessly, shooting him a glare of your own. "You're still in there somewhere, I think."

"Not  _me_ ," he snaps, swiftly pushing you to the right until you're the one pressed against the wall, and he's the one towering over you. "This man I see, who stands beside you on the battlefield. Who keeps your  _company_. I see him  _kissing you_ , warrior. Who is he?  _Name him_."

You feel your mouth drop open for half a second, your stomach jolting at the threat you see in Loki's eyes. But you're immediately all steel once more, glaring up into the face of the God of Wickedness. "No way. Absolutely not. Stay the  _fuck_ out of my head."

"If you do not tell me, I'll search for it myself," he hisses, cheek pressed to yours, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I will find out."

"Crazy, that I would spend time with someone who was actually  _there_ this past year," you state frigidly. "Unheard of. It's kind of weird, right? That he was there and you weren't?"

You're toying with him on purpose, wanting to wound him (if such a thing is possible). You know full well Bjorn had acted on impulse, a farewell, that it was a soft kiss and nothing more. You'd left the soldier standing alone on Asgard, and yet you have not left this apartment. But Loki does not know all of this.

"Silence," he growls out, hand clenching into a fist right beside your head.

"Funny, that's not what you usually want," you answer maliciously.

"Then scream," he states.

He hooks his fingers around the waist of your pants and tugs violently. The buckle of your belt pops off and falls at your feet, the other fastenings thankfully coming loose before they break.

“Fuck you, Loki,” you snarl.

“Tell me to stop, then,” he challenges, eyes glinting in the dim light.

You hold his glare, the both of you standing frozen for a long two seconds.

And then you’re a blur of furious movement, your hands undoing his own belt as he jerks your bottoms down around your thighs.

“Hang  _on_ ,” you snap heatedly, using your left foot as leverage to wiggle your other foot out of your boot.

You’ve barely gotten a leg out of your pants and underclothes when Loki’s pressing against you, parting your thighs with his body. You’re pinned against the wall, your back threatening to further break the already weakened and cracking sheet rock.

When he enters you, it’s obvious no one has taken you since he’s been gone. You inhale sharply next to his ear, your fingers tightening on his arms. No plea leaves your lips, but he still pauses, slows, allows you a moment to adjust.

He’d never admit to it.

Your hands slide up his arms as the pace of his hips quicken. Your breath is already coming too fast, your heart thundering loudly in your ears. Your fingers seek out the fastenings of Loki’s armor, working to release them.

“Don’t,” he orders in between gasps. “Leave it.”

He’s roughly pounding into you, a fist in your hair and the other on your breast, pinching and twisting and making you swear.

This act of carnality is not draw out. It does not take long, not for either of you. You refuse to say his name. Instead, as your muscles start to tighten, you allow yourself a low moan. It swiftly escalates to a higher pitch as you reach your climax, more curses escaping you.

You’re lucky you finished first. This is a union born of selfish anger, not pleasure. Loki’s quickly approaching his own release, groaning as his hips start to snap erratically. His grip on you is painful as his body shudders, his movements stuttering to a stop as he buries himself in you.

You’re both panting, the collective noise loud in the quiet room. Once more, his thumbs start to trace circles where they rest on your skin. It gives you chills, reawakens your fury.

Your fire is gone, replaced with cold anger. You push on Loki’s shoulders, but he’s already backing away, blue eyes narrowed, a sneer on his face.

You mindlessly pull your bottoms back in place, slipping your boot onto your foot and adjusting the buckles, and Loki’s decent in half the time (as decent as the man can be). He says nothing until you cross towards the door, reaching for the handle.

“A bold move, to leave in such a state,” he jeers, eyes noticeably scanning your ripped top.

You shoot him a look and open the door, quickly locating the body of the man that had been standing guard. You strip him of his shirt, a uniform that you recognize.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. working with you seems odd,” you state, tossing your ruined clothes to the side and slipping on the man’s shirt and jacket.

“You’d be wise to do the same,” he comments, noting the bloodstains on your new, oversized garments.

“Whatever the fuck you’re doing, Loki? Forget it. Go the hell home. Your mom wants you back. Thor’s moping around. Go back to Asgard and leave the little earthlings alone,” you tell him as you walk over towards the wall and pick up your bag.

“Ah, but I can’t,” he answers with a cruel smile, eyes practically gleaming blue. “I’ve made my choices, darling, and I’m more than content with them. They’d counted you a weakness, but I’d much prefer you as an ally. Why not join me in my conquest? It’s in your blood as much as mine.”

You stare at him, more exhausted than you’ve ever been. His words echo in your thoughts, hurting more than his absence ever had.  _‘_ _I’ve made my choices, darling, and I’m more than content with them.’_

You realize that you don't want to hear what happened to Loki over this past year. The mystery, the blue, his odd references to people you do not know. None of it will explain away his actions, and you cannot stand and listen to him talk in riddles. Not right now.

“Go back to Asgard,” you say with finality.

And with that, you step into the shadows, alone again.

This time by your choosing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is technically a smut chapter, but I didn't want that part of it to be super detailed and drawn out, because it isn't really what the scene is about, so.... Hope that makes sense!


	5. To Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us step off the angst train for a lil bit, yeah?  
> We've got a mystery to solve!

The darkness plays tricks on you. You find that once the path closes, you cannot seem to move on. Your heart pounds in your ears, but it isn't loud enough to drown out Loki's next words. 

 

It's as if he knows you have not truly left, that you remain close by, a step away in an alternate space that he cannot reach. But he speaks, regardless, and you hear. 

 

"Am I to understand that you've forgotten our ledger, my dear?" he asks quietly, his words dripping sweet poison. They pass through the dark like an echo, bouncing around and then fading away into nothing. "You've been indebted to me since our very first meeting. And paying a debt to a god is never an easy task. It  _would_ be easy to take a step in the right direction, however. Why not take part in this war against  _Earth_?" He says the word with clear disdain in his tone. "I hold true power here, and I know you would revel in it." He pauses for a moment, waiting. When he's met with silence, he offers a final plea. "After everything we've been through together, you would simply walk away?" 

 

 _And why not?_  You think to yourself as you shake your head.  _Didn't you?_  

 

But in your mind, there is an odd sort of pull that accompanies his words. It brings up images of you at the Trickster God's side while he sets out to accomplish his goal. You have always been a rebel without a cause, wandering aimlessly in search of meaning, of a next battle. And here he offers you a battle, a grand battle at that. A war against Earth. You've never much cared for the denizens of this planet; would it really be so wrong to test the limits of your power? 

 

You close your eyes and breathe in deeply through your nose, trying to clear your head. Something is off. You feel... not quite yourself. Loki doesn't sound so insane to you anymore, and you know that screams danger. Willow's face flashes up behind your eyelids, followed by the two astrophysicists and the intern. Will has always had a soft spot for humanity, much like Thor has grown to care for them. There are a few humans you admit you feel friendly towards as well. So, why are you entertaining these mad thoughts? 

 

You feel a rising instinctual urge to flee, chills running down your spine at the sudden rush of fear. It's as if you've been poisoned by Loki's terrible blue, like it's slowly planting seeds and rooting in your thoughts. 

 

Your eyes had always searched out the scepter, where it lay on display in the prince's trophy room. But it had been in passing each time, as you walked from one room to another. You had never lingered, never given it much thought. But now with the weapon clearly playing a hand in Loki's demented state, you fear you have tarried too close for too long. 

 

You pull away from him, forcing yourself through the dark, out of the dead town and down familiar paths towards your initial destination. 

 

You  _have_ to see Willow. 

 

\--- 

 

Sigrid and Asmund stand near the barracks, golden and blue eyes searching for any familiar face. Sig's initial joy at Asmund's proposition had shifted towards apprehension when she found she could not contact you. He had suggested they give you time and search for you once evening fell, and she had agreed. 

 

And now night has fallen, and Sigrid's unrest is quickly growing as she realizes you are truly gone once more. But where has the Allfather sent you, that her mind cannot find yours? The last time this had occurred, you had been lost to Midgard. 

 

Asmund's hand is wrapped tightly in her own. She is thankful that he stands beside her; to be in the presence of a sorcerer lessens the oddity of the pair hovering near the army's barracks. 

 

The majority of the soldiers are in the feast halls, but Sigrid knows she will not find you there. The rest are milling about the area, chatting and talking, speculating when and where their next march will take them. It is when she spots a familiar face walking towards a small, seated crowd that she tugs on Asmund's hand. "I'll be right back." 

 

The girl steps away, eyes locked on the man you'd introduced her to. He smiles as he listens to another soldier speaking, although he does not join in their spirited laughter. Amsund shadows Sigrid uncertainly, wondering what she could hope to gain from talking with these warriors. 

 

Bjorn spots the pair as they approach, his brown eyes widening slightly in surprise. He sets his mug of ale to the side (where it will surely be kicked over by one of his companions), and meets the both of them halfway. "Greetings," he says cordially. "Sigrid, I believe it was?" 

 

"Yes, indeed," the girl answers, dipping her head respectfully – a servant's habit. "And this is Asmund." 

 

"Pleasure," Bjorn states, nodding as he hooks a thumb through his belt. "I am Bjorn. I attended your ceremony today, you know. Congratulations, Master Sorcerer." 

 

His smile is warm and genuine, which Asmund was not expecting. There are some soldiers who look distrustfully upon the arcane arts, which creates tension when the two types of fighters must work closely together. "Thank you," Asmund says appreciatively. His inquisitive nature is quickly getting the best of him, and before Sigrid can say anything, he further questions, "May I ask why you gather outside of the barracks rather than within?" 

 

"Oh," the man says, taken aback by the inquiry. He glances over his shoulder, where the other soldiers are talking and drinking. "You know, I never considered it until now. I suppose we're used to standing around campfires and spending our time outdoors. To be inside is just not the same anymore." 

 

"And your accent, if you don't mind my asking, where are you –" Asmund begins, but Sigrid cuts him off. 

 

"You'll have to pardon us, sir, but we don't mean to keep you," Sigrid says, squeezing Asmund's hand apologetically. "I'm seeking our mutual acquaintance." 

 

"Yes, the Bloody Warrior," Asmund agrees, quickly getting back on track. "Is she around? We'd thought to venture inside the barracks, but weren't sure we'd be welcome." 

 

Bjorn takes an unconscious step back, his impulsive action earlier in the day flashing again to the forefront of his mind. He looks away in shame, cheeks warming. "She's gone, now. Sent away by the Allfather, but where, I do not know. She left in a rush.... Seemed all out of sorts. It was as if she'd seen a ghost." He looks over at Sigrid and Asmund, who cast a long glance between one another. "That's all I know," he promises. 

 

"Thank you for your time," Sigrid answers, although her thoughts are miles away. 

 

Speculating. 

 

\--- 

 

You've been to Will's apartment once before, and it is therefore not hard for you to find again. You're truly exhausted on all fronts: mentally, physically, and emotionally. You have to talk with her, someone who understands, who you know will not hesitate to help. And you desperately need help. 

 

You haven't been writing to Willow as much as you once had, although you are sure to let her know where you are and what battles you face. She has always been one to respect your privacy and need for space, and you'll be forever grateful. 

 

You figure she will be asleep, probably with her captain, and so you step out of the shadows and into the apartment's living area. The room is lit by a single lamp, which casts a warm glow across the vintage furniture. It's a welcome change from the cool gleam of the jewel embedded in Loki's scepter. Your mind feels more at ease immediately, and you breathe a sigh of relief as the shadows close. 

 

There's a soft snap from your left, and your gaze cuts over. 

 

A woman is in the room with you. And it isn't Willow. 

 

You quickly take her in, assess the situation. She's holding a gun on you, aimed right at your head, but has yet to pull the trigger. She has thick, brown hair that is pulled back into a tight ponytail, tawny brown skin, and red lips that are pressed into a thin line. There's a laptop sitting on the table in front of her, papers scattered around it with a very familiar emblem at the top of each page. It matches the one on the woman's uniform. 

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. 

 

You silently stare her down, debating on what to do. Do you have enough energy to avoid a gunshot? Who is this intruder, and where is Willow? You don't necessarily feel threatened by the woman, but your fingers itch to call up a sword or at least a dagger. The silence stretches on, the tension in the room mounting every second, and then the woman speaks. 

 

"Who are you?" she asks, and her voice wavers slightly (although her gun does not). 

 

"Who are  _you_?" you counter. "What are you doing in Will's apartment?" 

 

You see recognition spark in the stranger's eyes. "You know her?" 

 

"Will?" you call out, briefly breaking gaze with the woman as your eyes flicker over towards the bedroom. 

 

"She isn't here," the woman informs you tightly. "Now, who are you? What are you... what are you wearing?" 

 

Shit. The S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform you took off the guy in the hall. That probably wouldn't look good to another agent. You turn back to the stranger, and you can feel your anger and exasperation rising once more. "Did you do something to her?" you demand. "Is all of S.H.I.E.L.D. working with Loki, or what?  _What are you doing in Willow's apartment_?" 

 

"Listen, now, I'm the one asking questions," the woman snaps at you. "The safety on this is off, you know. So, one last time,  _w_ _ho_ _are you_?" 

 

You're sick of this absolutely hellish day. You cave, angrily spitting your name at her. "Your turn, now. Who the hell are you?" 

 

She stiffens, as if she doesn't want to tell you. But at last, she says, "I'm Carla. I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. And judging from the blood on you, I'm guessing that you don't." 

 

She gestures with her gun to your attire, and you sigh. So far, she hasn't shot you, and she's missing the ominous blue glow in her eyes. You figure this woman isn't under any orders from Loki, although that doesn’t mean she isn't an enemy. You work to calm yourself down; you can't just kill her. You need information. "Look, Carla. It's been a long fucking day for me. I didn't have a shirt, so I took one. Just so happened to be from a S.H.I.E.L.D. guy. There was a fight, yeah, and I won, but the circumstances were a little weird. I have nothing against S.H.I.E.L.D. I've met some of your agents before, my friend works for you guys.... I just really need to see her, okay?" 

 

The woman stands silently, her gun still trained at your head. You wait rather impatiently, and she finally speaks again. "How did you do that? Just appear here? You're like Willow, then?" 

 

"We're alike, yeah," you state shortly. "She has powers, I have powers. That's not really what I'm focused on right now." You wait a few beats, and when she still says nothing, you blurt out, "Look, I'm not going to hurt you, alright? And if you're not going to hurt me, then just put the gun away, because all I really care about right now is Will!" 

 

Carla's red lips draw up into a thin line again, and then she abruptly lowers her gun. "Willow is missing. I've been stationed here in case she returns or someone tries to contact her." 

 

Your thoughts pull up short. "Will's missing?" 

 

Carla nods, her features serious. "Rogers is out with S.H.I.E.L.D. looking for her. That's the last I heard." 

 

"What happened?" you ask, pulling your bag around and searching through it for your notebook. 

 

When you glance up, you find that Carla has drawn her gun on you again. You show her the book and roll your eyes. She warily lowers the weapon once more, and then says, "As far as I know, she went out on a mission and didn't return." 

 

"Probably bullshit," you say idly, thumbing through the pages until you find your last entry to Will. 

 

It was yesterday, when you'd been approaching Asgard (had that been only yesterday?). She hasn't replied. You fish out one of your pens and scrawl a hasty message to Willow as Carla answers your comment. 

 

"I... honestly think so, too. Something's going on, although I'm apparently not cleared for the information. Now, I care for this girl. She's a good soul, if that's something you can understand. So, if you're truly her friend, and you can do... that," she gestures towards where you had stepped from the shadows, "then do you think you'll be able to find her?" 

 

"What the fuck is going on?" you groan, rubbing your face as you stow your pen and notebook away. "Weirdest day of my damn life, I fucking swear." You look back up at Carla, distrust clear in your gaze. "I don't think I can find her, I  _know_. Where was she last? I can start there." 

 

"They tried that," Carla states, tapping a finger on the edge of the table near her, where the laptop sits. "The base is completely destroyed. But... I... have a theory on how to locate her. My superiors don't like it, not that anyone listens to me anyway." 

 

Now, you're interested, your guard lowering slightly. "Yeah?" 

 

"Willow creates flares of energy when she uses her abilities. That's how we tracked her in the first place, when she initially landed here." 

 

Your thoughts immediately go back to the Bifrost disaster, which had landed you in New Mexico with Thor, and Will in New York. "Okay, and?" you ask. "Can you track that again?" 

 

"I don't have the capabilities here," Carla tells you, and you sigh as you start planning out your next course of action. But then she continues, "However, I've been monitoring power surges in the nation. And there's been several. I can't run the data from here, but I know someone who can. And he's nearby." 

 

Your brow furrows as you consider this. "Why hasn't S.H.I.E.L.D. already brought him in, then?" 

 

"I think S.H.I.E.L.D. already knows where she is, if I'm being honest," Carla answers. "So, they really don't need him. But as they aren't sharing their information,  _we_ need him. He..." she purses her red lips, "doesn't play well with others. But he'd be your best bet of quickly getting the information you need. If you can convince him to do it." 

 

"I can be very convincing," you say bluntly, and Carla frowns at you. You ignore the look. "Where can I find him?" 

 

You're throwing yourself into this new problem, pushing your thoughts of Loki back on purpose. If your friend needs you, you'll be there for her. But first, you have to find her. 

 

Carla turns away towards the apartment window and points at the dark skyline, red fingernail tapping against the glass. "Head that way. He's in Stark Tower. It's a tall building with its name lit up at the top like a neon sign. You can't miss it." 

 

You consider her, wondering about the likelihood of this being a trap. You slowly nod your head, lip between your teeth. "Alright. Thanks. If you're right, that is. If this is some sort of ambush, you'll be hearing from me  _real_ soon." 

 

Carla snorts and rolls her eyes. "You can't intimidate me. That's why S.H.I.E.L.D. hired me on. But there's no need for any hostility. Not towards me, anyway. Save it for Stark." 

 

You decide that if this woman doesn't get you killed, if she isn't a liar that has hurt your friend, you may end up liking her. "Yeah, okay," you answer, and then step backwards into a rift of shadows once more. 

 

Time to visit Stark Tower. Whatever that is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHERE IS WILL?! WHO KNOWS? NOT READER!  
> *dramatic irony*
> 
> Glad to have Reader meet Carla, who is a character from the sister fic, "To Walk Together" by ShootingStarSojourner :)


	6. Warriors and Wit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Tony Time

Tony Stark is up late, which is not at all unusual for him. His busy mind is always at work on something or other deep into the night, when it is said the most intelligent and creative are at their best. Miss Pepper Potts always tells him he should search for creativity that can't be found at the bottom of a bottle. Tony thinks of this quote as he takes a sip of his drink – from a glass. 

 

He leans over his workstation, which holds a half-constructed model of a component for his Iron Man suit. It mirrors the design depicted on the nearest holographic screen, which Tony brings closer with a flick of his wrist. He rubs his jaw and swirls his drink as he thinks. 

 

The glass and its contents are the usual, his late night is the usual; it is the sudden, blaring alarm that is not. 

 

"Um, cut that off?" Tony orders, looking quizzically around his workshop. "What gives?" 

 

"Motion sensors indicate that there is someone here, sir," the automated voice of J.A.R.V.I.S. informs him. 

 

The alarm shuts off, making the abrupt silence seem tense and uneasy. "It's midnight, I'm not seeing anyone unless it's Potts. Keep 'em out," Tony says, his tone implying that this should have been obvious. 

 

"Impossible, sir. They're already in the building," the A.I. replies. 

 

Tony's brow furrows, and he purses his lips. "What? Where?" 

 

Another hologram flickers to life at the edge of his workstation, this one displaying a map of the tower. One of the rooms is flashing red, where the computer system is picking up motion. Tony frowns deeply, and he tilts his head to the side. "Okay, then...." 

 

It's the next room over. 

 

Baffled, and more than a little curious, Tony picks up his glass and walks towards the room's side door. He's beginning to think J.A.R.V.I.S.'s motion sensors need a tune up. He rolls his neck as he steps into the next room – he's been hunched over his workstation for a while now. 

 

He stops in his tracks when he realizes he is indeed  _not_ alone in Stark Tower tonight. 

 

"J.A.R.V.I.S., there's a woman here," Tony Stark says. 

 

You lift your gaze at the statement, blinking quickly to clear your vision. You're breathing heavily, a hand gripping the first thing you touched when you stepped out of the darkness – a modern looking couch. It's the only thing keeping you on your feet right now. You've hit your energy limit with all of your shadow travel tonight. Using power to move between worlds and across the country has taken its toll. 

 

But you've got to focus, because you're almost positive that this is the man you're supposed to be talking with. The silence seems to have stretched on too long for him, because he asks, "Long night?" 

 

His tone is nonchalant, but you have a feeling that it's meant to be sarcastic. He looks almost comical, holding a drink and dressed in casual clothes worn underneath an untied, striped men's bathrobe. There’s a blue circle of light in the center of his chest, the glow showing through the fabric of his shirt. Peculiar, but not a priority at the moment. "Are you.... Are you Stark?" you ask, attempting to stand up straight. 

 

"Maybe," the man answers, offering you a casual shrug. "Depends on who's asking. Say, I've got a question of my own. Um, how did you get in here?" 

 

 _Doesn't play well with others,_ Carla had said. You suck in a breath and grit your teeth, curbing your impatience as best as you can. "I have abilities...." You waver in your explanation, trying to figure out how best to get across essential information in the shortest amount of time. "I, uh, don't have a... name for it. It's like teleporting?" 

 

Tony's eyes survey you skeptically, noticeably taking in the blood spattered across your top. "J.A.R.V.I.S., have a suit ready." 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

You jump, searching for the disembodied voice. "The fuck was that?" 

 

Tony's eyebrow rises at your swear. "Oh, that's my A.I. He's 'Just A Rather Very Intelligent System'. Don't mind him. Sooo, what are you doing here?" 

 

You stare at him blankly and slowly shake your head. "Okay, I don't care. Look... if you're Stark, I'm here for.... I need...." It tastes gross; you hate saying it out loud. It makes you think back on an earlier time, when you were rendered useless and weak by your enemies. "I need your help." 

 

The man stays silent for a moment or two, staring at you with an unreadable expression. Eventually, he lifts a finger from the glass he's holding and gestures to you. "S.H.I.E.L.D., right? They override the system or something, get you up here? Or wait, no, bloody and ill-fitting uniform. Enemy of S.H.I.E.L.D., then? Can't really blame you there. Nosy bastards." 

 

You bare your teeth in anger, leftover embarrassment at asking for help shifting and adding to your irritation. "This  _fucking_ thing, I  _swear_ ," you hiss, grabbing at the uniform's emblem on your left shoulder. Once the fabric is balled in your hand, you form a shoddy dagger and swiftly cut the emblem off. You throw the wretched thing down and glare over at the man in the room with you. " _Fuck_ S.H.I.E.L.D.,  _fuck_ this day, and  _fuck this planet_." 

 

"J.A.R.V.I.S., how's that suit coming?" Tony interjects, fingers tightening around his drink. 

 

You talk over him. "I'm not lying, okay? I've got powers, or  _whatever_!" You brandish the dagger and then throw it backwards, letting it dissipate into the darkness. Tony's eyes follow it and linger where it disappeared (too much to drink?). "Let me lay it out really simply, alright?" You lean over and grip the couch again – black spots dance across your vision. "Because I've had the worst fucking day." You inhale sharply and then speak very quickly. "I went to see someone I thought was dead. He'd taken over the mind of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent – move past it, the mind control thing's not the point – and the agent tried to kill me. My top was... ripped, so I took this one. I came to New York looking for my friend, met another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who said she's missing and I should come here. So, now I'm here, and for the love of God, just help me find Willow and I'll leave you the hell alone. I'm so fucking tired." 

 

You rub your eyes before tears can well up and overflow. You have no idea if they originate from stress or anger, but you won't allow any to fall. 

 

"That's..." Tony trails off and then swiftly throws his drink back, draining the glass. He clears his throat. "Who the hell are you again?" 

 

You give him your name, forcing a blunt and emotionless tone. 

 

"Never heard of you," Tony says. 

 

"Never heard of you, either," you retort. 

 

"Must not be from around here, then," he says. 

 

"Absolutely not from around here," you agree. 

 

"Like New York?" 

 

"Like Earth." 

 

Tony squints at you. "Are you, uh, saying you're an alien?" 

 

"I don't really prefer that term," you answer. You feel light headed, and you're fighting the urge to sink down onto the couch. "Can we get to the point, please?" 

 

"Anything on the scans, J.A.R.V.I.S.?" Tony questions without breaking eye contact with you. 

 

"There is nothing unusual in our immediate area, sir, and no bugs that I can detect. I cannot get a reading on  _her_ , however. It's quite peculiar, and does not register well with my system. I can liken it only to Captain Roger's companion, Willow." 

 

"Willow," Tony mutters before you can speak. "Willow, yes, you mentioned her already, didn't you?" 

 

"She's my best friend, and she's missing," you state. 

 

"And, what, I'm just supposed to believe you?" Tony scoffs, and then goes to take a drink from his glass before realizing that it's empty. He shakes his head, a disbelieving smirk plastered across his face. "You show up in my tower in the middle of the night, spattered with blood, threatening me with a weapon –" 

 

"I didn't –" 

 

"– claiming to be an alien with superpowers that needs  _my_ help looking for someone. And I'm not even getting into the crazy you spouted off about some kind of mind control thing." He looks at you pointedly. "Mhm. I'm not buying it. Go ahead and skedaddle on out of my building before I have to remove you myself." 

 

"Your computer guy  _just_ said I'm like Will!" you exclaim heatedly. "And if it knows about her, then I'm  _sure_ you know she has powers and abilities. Like me. We come from the same place. And she's  _missing_. What, is it so hard for you to search for her?" 

 

"Search for her?" he asks incredulously. "Look, lady, I don't know what S.H.I.E.L.D.'s been feeding you, but I don't just have a magical radar that can find whoever needs found, okay? I –" 

 

"Carla said you could track the energy flares Will makes when she uses her power," you interrupt. "She said she didn't have the equipment, but you could do it. So, without you, I'm shit out of luck until I can think of something else." 

 

"Carla?" Tony asks. "Carla Castillo?" 

 

You shrug. "I guess?" 

 

Tony chews on his lip as he thinks. He's seen Carla. He knows she's an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., and he knows she knows Willow. J.A.R.V.I.S. likened you to Rogers' girl, and Tony has seen first-hand the power your friend wields. Maybe you aren't as crazy as you seem. Trustworthy, no, not at all. But maybe not certifiably insane. "So, Sunshine is really missing, huh?" 

 

"If 'Sunshine' is Willow, then yes," you state in exasperation. "If you can tell me where she is, or even just point me in the right direction, I will be out of your life before you can blink." 

 

Tony looks off to the left as he considers his options. After a few moments, he pulls a cell phone out of his pocket. 

 

"What are you doing?" you ask. 

 

"Calling Rogers," Tony answers, shrugging. 

 

"No one's at their apartment but Carla," you say, exasperated. "She said he's out with S.H.I.E.L.D., looking for Will." 

 

Tony shoots you a look and then ignores you. 

 

"I'm going to scream," you mutter, and then succumb to your urge to sit down on the couch. 

 

\--- 

 

Talking with Carla Castillo did not lessen Stark's suspicions of you, but it did confirm that Willow is indeed missing. You watch him type into the most advanced computer system you've ever seen on Earth, which includes holographic, floating screens that you thought far beyond the planet's technological advances. You sit in a rather comfortable chair, rubbing your eyes as you try to stay awake. You like the modern design of the large rooms in Stark Tower. Things are simple and sleek here, which contrasts heavily with the ornate Asgardian palace. 

 

Even thinking about Asgard makes you wince. 

 

"So, how long is this gonna' take?" you ask into the silence. 

 

Stark sighs heavily. "Jesus, if that doesn't equate to an 'are we there yet?'…." He looks over at you, his guard still noticeably up. "Uh, let's see. How can I put this in layman's terms...." You glare over at him, which he returns with an air of arrogance. "I can't just search out your little friend if she's not setting off any 'flares', as you and Carla so  _eloquently_ put it. I've set up a system of sensors that will let me know the next time there's, uh, a large 'flare' in the country. So, that's where we're at now." 

 

He presses a final key, swipes a few screens to the side, and then walks away towards the back of the room. Your head swivels as you watch him. "Are you telling me we're just sitting around, waiting for Will to use her power?" 

 

"Yep," Tony states, stepping behind his bar and selecting what he needs to refill his drink. He looks up at you, notes your expression (which is surely a mix of horror and outrage), and then tells you, "Or you could always leave." 

 

"Fuck," you growl, turning away from him and slumping down in your seat. "That could take forever. This isn't working." 

 

"Oh, it'll work. Trust me," Tony says. 

 

"Shut up," you snap, rubbing your temples. "I'm not questioning whether or not it'll work. I just don't have the time to be sitting around doing  _nothing_." 

 

"Charming," Stark says dryly as he returns to his workstation. "You're just a pleasure to be around, you know that? I'm  _really_ glad you're here. So, hey, since I'm helping you out, how about you help  _me_ out, and not tell the person helping you out to shut up." 

 

You angrily swallow your reply before you can make things worse. Your thoughts bounce chaotically around in your mind, your fatigue making them extremely scattered and impossible to focus on. How long will it be before Will needs to use her power? Or what if she's in a situation that won't allow her to use her power? Well, you know one thing, you aren't sticking around with  _Stark_. You'll give it 'till tomorrow, and if nothing's changed, you'll find some other way to track her down. You figure Willow's Captain will know something, if you can locate him. Maybe you can ask Carla. And if she doesn't know? On to question S.H.I.E.L.D. 

 

You heave a sigh and prop your head up with your hand. Earth isn't necessarily a big planet, but it sure seems bigger when you have to think about finding a single person somewhere on it. 

 

"So, can't help but notice that you speak pretty good English. You know, for an alien," Tony says without looking up from his work. 

 

"English," you repeat. "A lot of places just call it 'Common'. It's kind of a low language. Tricky at first, but a lot of worlds know it. Easy on the tongue, but not really pretty." 

 

"Uh huh," he responds, the disbelief hard to miss. "You're also good with the lingo and swears." He pauses a moment and then adds, "Especially the swears." 

 

"Been here before," you inform him after a yawn. "Earth curses are my favorite. They just sound bad when you say them." 

 

"Right," Tony states. "Yeah, okay." 

 

You think he asks you something else, but you slip into unconsciousness before it can register. 

 

\--- 

 

You subconsciously fear you will dream about your past lover, your dying soldier on the battleground, who stares at you with eyes that no longer see. He always haunts you when you are stressed. But it is not dead eyes that find you in your sleep. 

 

It is a laugh. Cruel and low, right next to your ear, one you have not heard for ages. It makes your fists clench, your blood run cold, your entire being quake. This is  _fear_ , a feeling that brings about the desire to fight or flee, which is the basest instinct in any creature that does not wish to die. 

 

The owner of this laugh, you had counted him to Loki when the prince had asked of the men in your past. This is the one you killed, when he was at his most vulnerable. This is the one you did not want. 

 

But he's weaved his way into your dreams once more, with the laugh you'd thought you'd silenced forever. There is nothing but darkness surrounding you, no one near save for him hovering behind you, running unwanted fingers down your spine. 

 

You call out in a wavering voice, seeking help once more, wanting to escape this weakness. This laugh, why it has risen again  _now_ , you do not know. You muster up the courage to face him, to kill him again if you have to. 

 

And you turn to find not the owner of the laugh, but your prince. 

 

\--- 

 

You jolt awake in a cold sweat, almost leaping out of your seat in your terror. 

 

"Fuck! You scared me!" 

 

Your frantic eyes search out the voice and land on Stark, and you finally remember where you are and what you're doing. His exclamation was full of indignation, although he's quickly regained his composure. 

 

You can't believe you fell asleep.  _In a stranger's place_. You're going to get yourself killed, no doubt about it. You can't afford to exhaust your energy like you have been. 

 

You realize you're squinting as you look around the room – it's daytime. Sunlight streams through the many windows of the tower's wide room, and the city outside is noisy. Stark's working on a new project in the corner, casting dark glances your way. You note that he's changed his clothes, and you can't say you're sad to see the bathrobe go. There's a blanket at your feet, as if he'd haphazardly thrown one over you sometime during the night. 

 

You pretend that you don't notice it. "Anything on Will?" you ask, all business as you walk off your dream. 

 

"Nope," Tony answers shortly. 

 

You let out a frustrated growl from behind your teeth. "This is the worst. I'm... I'm worried about her," you admit. "I can't wait around. Is it midday yet?" 

 

"Midday?" Tony questions, looking up from his project. "Uh, it's almost three. So... after midday?" 

 

"Shit," you swear, pacing back over towards your chair. You slept much too long. "Fucking stupid. I've got to do... I dunno', something." 

 

"Well, don't let the door hit you on the way out," Tony says. 

 

You glare over at him and then hold a hand up, darkness flaring as you begin to create a rift. 

 

"Whoa, okay, wait, wait," Tony orders, setting aside his work and striding over towards you. "What is that?" 

 

"Uh.... I don't really... have a name for it?" you answer. "It's how I get around. Like... teleporting, but there's this whole thing involved, and... yeah." 

 

"Uh huh," Tony mutters, still staring at your hand with an analytical eye. "Is there a way to, uh –" 

 

You guess where he's going with this. "It dissipates if I'm not controlling it. Trust me, Jane Foster tried to do all sorts of tests. There's no point. I just use it, it's what I do." 

 

"Foster," Stark repeats, almost to himself. He finally makes eye contact with you when you lower your hand and withdraw your power. "So, you're friends with Sunspot, who does her little light stuff, and that makes you like her opposite, with all of  _that_." He gestures widely toward you. 

 

You let out a huff of breath. Everyone always refers to things they cannot understand as ' _that'_. "Sure, I don't care. I've got to go find someone at S.H.I.E.L.D. to...." Your words taper off, your hand clutching the hem of your uniform top. You look up at Tony again. "Hey, you have an old shirt or something I can wear? I'd find something along the way, but I just feel like that'd be wasting time." 

 

Again, you're affixed with Tony Stark's unreadable gaze. After a few seconds of silence, he calls out, "J.A.R.V.I.S.?" 

 

"I believe Miss Potts has previously left some belongings here," the automated voice promptly replies. 

 

"There you go," Tony says to you, shrugging. "He'll tell you where to look." 

 

You make a face, your nose scrunched up and a frown twisting your lips. "Thanks." 

 

You're uncomfortable as you follow the voice's instructions through the tower rooms, but the payoff of a new shirt is worth it. The A.I. seems alright. It's at least more amiable than Stark, although you feel like it has some of his sass. 

 

You've just gotten changed when the voice says, "Oh. Mr. Stark has requested that you hurry back. It seems there's been a new reading in the system." 

 

"A new reading as in a flare from Will?" you ask. 

 

"Well, we can't be sure, but the probability seems very high," J.A.R.V.I.S. answers. 

 

You head back towards the room Stark was in, and as soon as you step through the door, he's talking. "And there you are." 

 

"What was it? Was it Will?" you ask again. 

 

"Biggest burst of energy so far, much bigger than anything else around," Tony says quickly. He stares at the screens in front of him, and then muses, "So, Willow's all tangled up with S.H.I.E.L.D., and now Rogers is running around with them." 

 

"Yeah, so?" you ask impatiently. 

 

"And you needed my help, and yeah, an agent pointed you my way, but no one else at S.H.I.E.L.D. thought to ask for my assistance?" Tony continues. 

 

"She said no one would listen to her, and that you didn't play well with others, or something like that," you say without looking away from the confusing computer display. 

 

"That's what they said to me about...." The end of his sentence fades to nothing as he thinks. He narrows his eyes at the readings on the holographic screen. "It's moving. It started in New Mexico, and it's heading east." 

 

"New Mexico. That's where –" you cut yourself off before you can mention Thor or the Bifrost. That's a whole thing you don't want to get into right now. 

 

"Oh, so you're an alien, but you know where New Mexico is," Tony jeers. 

 

"I said I'd been here before, dammit," you snarl. "Will you just fucking tell me where she's going?" 

 

"Hang on," Stark says. "This is science, not some freaky mumbo jumbo." 

 

You tap your foot, fighting the urge to pace. The beautiful day outside seems to mock your anxiety; you can't help but feel like something is terribly wrong. If things were fine, Will would've written you back by now, or found some other way to get a message to you. 

 

"Does Sunshine need anything in Germany?" Stark asks you after a long silence. 

 

"In  _what_?" you ask. 

 

"Oh, so you know New Mexico, but you don't know Germany," Tony scoffs. 

 

"I'm assuming it's a place, then," you say. "Is that where the flare ended up? In... Germany?" 

 

"Yep, right in Stuttgart," he affirms, pointing at something on his monitor. 

 

You shoot him a look. "Now's not the time for these stupid games, Stark. Stop making fun of me and just tell me where the hell she is." 

 

"Stuttgart is a real place!" Tony exclaims with a laugh. "Wow, you're just maddeningly inconsistent." 

 

"Fucking  _shit_ , just tell me how to get there!" you shout. 

 

"You want directions to fucking  _Germany_?" Stark asks, laughing again. "Are you serious? You can't just magic yourself there?" 

 

"I  _like_ to have a general idea of where I'm going, unless I just risk chancing it and getting lost," you hiss. "I... well, usually I can kind of get a vibe of where she is, but I... I can't right now. So, yeah, I'm gonna' need directions to fucking Germany." 

 

"You usually get a 'vibe' of where she is," Tony echoes. "Wow, this just keeps getting better and better." 

 

"Sarcasm not appreciated right now," you state with a withering glare. 

 

Tony remains unwithered. "I'll level with you, alright? I'm interested. I feel like I'm being left out of the loop here, what with Rogers being in on everything, and S.H.I.E.L.D. acting shady. I can fly us. We can be there in six hours." 

 

"Six hours?!" you exclaim. "That's way too fucking slow. We need to be there  _now_." 

 

"Well, unless you have a mumbo jumbo solution, that's the offer on the table," Tony says, casting you a side glance. 

 

You habitually clench and unclench your fists as you consider your options. "I can't get us there in one go.... That's too long of a distance across places I don't know with landmarks I won't recognize. I'll get lost God knows where. But if  _you_ come with me, and you know your way around, and we take it in small steps...." You look up at Stark. "Um....” 

 

“What?” he asks. 

 

“You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got long, so I kept it in Stark Tower instead of jumping around, but things are happening in other places, and we'll get to it, I promise!


	7. Limbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS, FRIENDS  
> STAY SAFE, EAT SOME COOKIES, READ SOME FANFIC  
> CHEERS!

Loki does not necessarily prefer traveling with your little friend, but the method is a means to an end, and it is quick. It is arguably more pleasant than traveling via the tesseract, which has been left in the charge of the good Dr. Selvig. If all goes well, the prince's little posse will be returning shortly, with more in hand than when they came. 

 

The German town is surprisingly quiet, although the houses lining the street are awake, their windows bright like staring eyes. Loki begins to walk past them, focusing less on the sleepy town and more on his goal. The museum, the gala, is just up ahead. 

 

A vehicle passes, its occupants openly gawking at the sight of a man dressed in such foreign clothing, wielding such an odd, glowing object. 

 

"Are you trying to stand out on purpose?" 

 

Loki feels a sneer twist his lips, and he graces his short companion with a fleeting glance. Even under his influence, Willow retains the essence of her spirit, meeting his eyes without fear. He focuses on her clothing, on the fact that she stands out as much as he does, and comments, "I do recall those being  _Asgardian_ leathers. Though I do not remember the addition of such colors." 

 

Blue, white. The girl's  _captain_ bears these colors as well. 

 

"A friend mended them," she obediently answers, bright blue eyes subtly glancing at her outfit before adding, "I don't know about you, but _I_  at least plan to look the part before going into a  _gala_." 

 

The prince gives her a tight smile, unsure of whether to be irritated or amused. It’s true that they will have to blend in for a time, until Barton is in position. “As do I, healer.” 

 

Loki continues on without another word, and Willow keeps pace with him from behind. His strides are long and purposeful, and although she has to work to keep up, she does not complain. The closer the pair draws towards the heart of town, the more onlookers stare. Homes soon give way to storefronts (the museum sitting noticeably up ahead) and Loki’s eyes begin darting from window to window. 

 

He finally spots something he likes, something formal and  _fitting_ for the occasion. He pauses in front of the store window, casually surveying the clothing on the mannequin display. His companion steps closer, intrigued. “Are we planning on stealing these?” she asks. 

 

Loki cuts his eyes to the heavens and then lifts his hand, the one holding his scepter. His magic flashes out, bright emerald, an old color. 

 

He uses the suit on the mannequin as a guide to craft his illusion. The magic clings to him, settling across his body until his princely attire has shifted into that of Midgardian formalwear. He adds an illusion to his scepter, as he surmises that a jeweled cane will not draw near as many eyes. 

 

 _Perfection_ , he thinks to himself, satisfied. 

 

For the healer, however…. He heard the attachment in her voice. ‘A friend mended them’. No, the clothing will have to go. Objects have always been easier to teleport than living beings, especially when they’re right in front of him, separated only by a layer of glass. 

 

For your friend, he’s simply swapped her modified leathers with the dress of the mannequin she’d been observing (which he notes, with a bit of ironic pleasure, is green). 

 

He reads the confusion on her face as she processes what has just occurred. “Better,” Loki states before promptly continuing on his way. 

 

He’s not gotten far before he hears the healer call out to him. “Whoa, wait. I still want those!” 

 

Loki turns to find your friend standing before the store window, staring at the Asgardian clothing that now decorates the mannequin. He frowns at her tone, and begins his admonishment. “Is that sentimentality I hear again?” 

 

 _Your lips on the back of his neck, morning light peeking through the_ _palace_ _windows, soft covers and caresses_ _as he turns_ _–_  

 

 _Sentimentality._  

 

Her blue eyes flash brightly for a moment. “ _No_ ,” the girl insists. “I just like them. They’re practical for what I do.” 

 

 _What you_ ** _do_** _is serve me,_ a voice within him snaps. 

 

He quells his anger, the logical side of him determining that this tiff is a waste of time. “We can fetch them upon our return. We currently have other  _important_  matters to attend to. Priorities, healer,” he says snidely. 

 

Loki turns on his heel, once more focused on his destination. He can hear the huff of breath the healer lets out before she follows. 

 

He does not intend to return for her clothes. 

 

He’s itching for the events of this evening to unfold. Too long has he been waiting, holed up in Selvig’s makeshift lab. He’s ready to move on with his plan, ready for everything to fall into place. 

 

He’s ready to acquire an eye. 

 

The museum where the gala is taking place is truly elegant; a large courtyard out front, many stairs leading up to the entrance, tall white marble pillars lining the edifice. 

 

Loki barely notices. Willow, however, surveys the area with a hint of awe behind the blue of her eyes. 

 

The expression fades when she takes note of the guards standing on either side of the building’s entrance. Loki strides up to them confidently, giving them both a winning smile as they step closer. 

 

He’s never bothered to learn all of the tongues of Midgard, but with the scepter, with the stone’s influence, the words come easy, even when they are foreign to his mouth and mind. 

 

“One moment, sir, madam,” one of the men is saying. “Identification please.” 

 

Loki’s smirk is smug and full of dark promises. “I am Loki, soon to be the ruler of this realm.” 

 

The language dances across his lips, as if he has spoken it his entire life. The jewel of the cane in his hand glows brighter, its power flaring out, expanding its reach. The guard stutters, his eyes wide with confusion. “Of… of course.” 

 

Loki’s smirk widens, breaking into a satisfied grin as he brushes past the man and enters the building. 

 

It will be quite a party. 

 

\--- 

 

“Just give me  _some_ kind of landmark to work towards,” you snap, peering at the blurred shapes of the world around you, things only you can see in the darkness. 

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the tinny voice of Tony Stark replies, “let me just  _magically_  find a steady signal in this weird, uh, limbo-hell. And while I’m at it, I just want to thank you for your overwhelming understanding and patience.” 

 

You turn to scowl at him, glaring at the red and gold mask that covers his face. You can hear the little mechanical sounds the suit’s thrusters make as they keep Tony airborne, hovering in the dark space. 

 

You’d finally understood what Stark had been referring to, when he’d asked his A.I. to have a “suit” ready for him. He’s told you that the people call him “Iron Man”, although the suit itself is not made of iron. 

 

“Well, if that’s the case,” you’d told him snidely, “then the name’s pretty stupid, don’t you think?” 

 

His scowl had been reply enough. 

 

"Are we even close to Stuttugut?" you snarl impatiently. 

 

"Jesus, that's not even close to right," Tony mutters, shaking his head. 

 

He tries to pull up the map again, but the signal is spotty at best. He will never admit it, not even under duress, but this place is... unnatural (scary). J.A.R.V.I.S. has been cutting in and out, which only puts Tony's nerves even more on edge. He feels as if things are watching him, hidden just out of sight. Nothing here makes sense, and if he hadn't initially acted like such a damn hero, his curiosity pushing him to set out and fearlessly face the unknown (maybe take some readings, get some data), then he'd have demanded you take him back. This is a trust exercise he hadn't been banking on, and he most certainly doesn't trust you. 

 

 _The suit helps_ , he tries to tell himself. 

 

But it doesn't, not really. Any light he's attempted to shine in this place has been... absorbed. That's the word for it. It is unnerving, and it makes his heart beat just a little faster than is normal. 

 

"Can't we just pop out for a second?" Tony says this as more of an order than a question. "My tech will settle, and we can get a signal, and be on our merry way." 

 

"Yeah, sure, okay," you concede, heaving another sigh. "Shit, this is taking longer than I thought." 

 

You cut a path through the darkness and step out on the roof of a building. Evening has settled in this part of the world, and you feel a clear night creeping in swiftly. Tony flies out after you, and you don't miss the electronic-sounding sigh of relief when he can once more see the world around him. 

 

"Sir, I'd suggest not going back into that... space," J.A.R.V.I.S. says in Tony's ear. "The readings alone indicate that –" 

 

"There you are, buddy," Stark says happily. "Maps up." 

 

The A.I. complies, your destination flashing in front of Tony's eyes. "Of course, sir. But if you would –" 

 

"Which way, Stark?" you ask, unknowingly cutting into the conversation. 

 

"Well, we're close...ish," Tony answers. "Close enough to fly from here." 

 

"My way is faster," you say. 

 

"It's fast, I'll give you that," Stark states with a shrug. "But I'm fast, too." 

 

"Well, I can't just  _fly_ ," you tell him, frowning. "That uses way too much energy. And I'm already getting tired." 

 

"Hey, I'll take you with me if you hang on tight," he says nonchalantly. "You've shown me how you travel, I'd say it's my turn." 

 

A slow smirk starts to spread across your face. "You sure you aren't just avoiding going back into the dark?" 

 

"Hardly," Tony scoffs. "C'mon, clock's ticking." 

 

You roll your eyes, but you can already feel yourself caving. It'll be an undignified entrance, that much you know. 

 

But finding your friend will be worth it. You just pray she isn't in trouble. Hopefully, all of this has been a giant misunderstanding on your part. 

 

You know better than to hope. 

 

\--- 

 

 _Now._  

 

Willow shoves the target forward, the music in the room dying at once as the instrumentalist turns towards the commotion. The target stumbles towards the waiting prince, who casually flips his cane. The hidden scepter smashes into the blond man's face with a resounding _crack_.

 

The screams begin, and Loki smiles, his intense gaze zeroed in on his victim. He hoists the doctor up by his collar and drags him towards the grand sculpture in the center of the room. It makes a perfect platform for Loki to complete his task. He forcefully flips the man onto the smooth stone, fishing in his pocket with his other hand for the device Barton had said would be necessary. 

 

It makes a delightful whirring noise once Loki activates it. He stares down at the man, ignoring the cacophony of noise in the background. The healer is already taking care of things, launching into action to dissuade the guards from attacking him. So, Loki takes his time, pursing his lips as he decides which eye to plunge the device into. 

 

Loki can tell that the man's fear is building, although he has yet to cry out. Perhaps he's too shocked. Unperturbed, Loki gracefully stabs the machine down into the doctor's left eye. 

 

He wonders what it was like when his brother lost his eye. He wonders if Thor screamed as much as this man did. 

 

A light on the device blinks green once the task has been accomplished, and Loki pulls the machine free, tossing it casually aside. _Crimson_ , he thinks to himself, _adds a bit of life to the sculpture_. He straightens up and rolls his shoulders as he leaves the dying man. Your friend is watching him, waiting for orders. 

 

"Come, healer," Loki says easily. "The sheep must be rounded." 

 

He walks out of the building, the illusion of his Midgardian garb fading as he releases the magic. He sees vehicles approaching from the street, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Loki raises his scepter, blasts of energy soaring over the crowd and colliding with the cars. The people scream as the vehicles flip, metal screeching loudly against the pavement. 

 

"Kneel before me," Loki calls out, but the crowd's panic is too great. He frowns and resorts to an old trick, one the simple mortals are sure to fall for. Illusions of himself appear, blocking the mass of people from fleeing. "I. Said.  _Kneel_!" Loki roars, his tongue twisting with the new language. 

 

And silence falls as those present comply. The healer stands at his side, also surveying the crowd. It is time, now, to make Midgard understand. 

 

"Is this not simpler?" he asks. "The natural state for your kind, the unspoken truth of humanity, to have your knees bent and heads bowed low before another. Life's greatest lie, the illusion of freedom that sits before you while you all scramble for power, for identity. When in reality, you are simply a people made to be ruled. And in the end, you will always kneel." 

 

There are quiet, fearful murmurs in the crowd, and for a moment, he has won. But then an elderly man rises, a statement of rebellion on his lips. It's laughable, Loki thinks. In fact, he does laugh. 

 

"Should I take care of him?" the healer wants to know. 

 

"Hardly worth it," Loki comments to her. He then turns to the mass of people before him, eyes falling on the defiant individual. "If you wish to volunteer as an example, so be it," Loki crows. "Look to your elder, mortals!" 

 

The jewel in Loki's scepter glows brightly as energy gathers. There are people turning their eyes to the heavens, to a jet hovering high above. The beam shoots out from the scepter just as a falling figure hits the ground. 

 

The energy deflects, bouncing off of Captain America's shield and blasting back towards Loki. It explodes against a wall of light, brought into existence by your friend, leaving the pair unharmed. 

 

The captain stands in front of the crowd, staring down the prince with a level gaze. The quinjet lowers, guns aimed and at the ready. 

 

"The soldier," Loki acknowledges. "The man out of time. Delightful to officially make your acquaintance." 

 

"Can't say I share the sentiment," Steve Rogers quips, his voice tight. His blue eyes flit to Willow for a moment, the look betraying a hint of pain. "Doesn't sit well, seeing a man standing above everyone else. Didn't sit well last time I was in Germany, either. Let her go. We're not going to let you hurt these people, or anyone else." 

 

"Loki, drop the weapon and stand down," Natasha Romanoff orders from the quinjet, her amplified voice echoing around the courtyard. "This ends now." 

 

"Demanding, aren't they?" Loki asks, looking over at your little friend. 

 

"They are," she agrees, and Rogers  _almost_ winces. 

 

"Star, I know you're in there," he calls carefully, shield at the ready. 

 

And that's when Loki makes his move. 

 

\--- 

 

"Looks like a party," Stark comments over the roaring wind. "And I wasn't invited. Shame." 

 

"That's a battle!" you shout back, arms still locked painfully around the suit's neck. "That's Will's light! Take us down, quickly!" 

 

"Already on it," Tony replies, and you can hear the eyeroll in his tone. 

 

By the time your feet touch the ground, you can already feel your breath catch in your throat. The people locked in this battle... you know two of them. 

 

It's not like in the movies and books, where there's a moment of fluidity, of slow-motion, where the chaos ceases, the shouting falls silent, everything stops. Nothing stops but your heart. It takes less than a second for your eyes to fall on Loki, golden helmet gleaming in the lights of the courtyard, an odd mixture of regal madness in his every movement. He faces off against a man bearing a shield, who you do not recognize. 

 

It takes a second more for your gaze to zero in on the other person you do recognize. There's a madness in her face as well, golden light flaring from one of her eyes as she screams and grips the sides of her head. Her other eye is blue, bright and unnatural. She's at war with herself, pained, confused. 

 

Blue. 

 

A moment more, just another heartbeat, and you understand. 

 

It only takes around three seconds for your world to fall apart. And a sound tears from your throat, a purely instinctual scream that rings out across the courtyard, that hurts, hurts, hurts. 

 

" **NO** **!** " 

 

You're scrabbling forward, tripping over yourself in your shock, unable to feel your limbs let alone control them. You can hear Stark shouting something at you, feel the cold metal of his fingers as they close around your forearm. But that's irrelevant. 

 

" **NO!** ** _NO_** **!** **LET** **HER GO!** " 

 

Loki looks up at the sound of your voice, that handsome, terrible face portraying genuine surprise. You know this time, you can see when the blue fades from his eyes, revealing his green, _your_ green.

 

" **LOKI,** ** _PLEASE_** **!** " 

 

You're fighting against Stark's hold now, tears rolling freely down your face, your throat on fire, a coppery taste in your mouth. Did you bite your tongue? Your eyes are locked onto Loki's, your vision blurred, mouth stretched in a silent wail. 

 

His eyes never leave you. 

 

He lifts his scepter, the action almost mechanical. There's a flash. Willow falls silent. 

 

Her body hits the ground as Loki vanishes from sight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say, I know updates are coming super slowly, especially in comparison to how OSE and ODE updated. I just want to thank you guys for being patient and understanding with me, especially around the holidays! Every comment and kudo gives me life, and I appreciate every single one of you.  
> <3  
> I'll be taking a short break until the holidays are over, but I'll see you soon! ;D


	8. In the Face of Adversity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2018!!!  
> Here's to an awesome year of fic writing and reading to each and every one of you! :)

You're pulling against Tony's hold, jerking your arm repeatedly until your joints hurt. He's talking to you, saying something, asking questions, but you do not hear. You watch as the man with the shield rips off his helmet and sprints towards your friend's fallen form. He drops the spangled disc, the metal clanging against the street, and hurriedly turns Willow so that he can see her face.

 

"Don't **touch** her," you growl out. You're too volatile right now for any sort of logical thought. " _Don't touch her_!"

 

You let out a blast of energy that finally causes Stark to lose his grip. And then you're dashing forward, using even more energy to push yourself faster, because what if she's dead and what will you do and you can't even bring yourself to think about any of that, not right now, not yet.

 

The humans are still watching; the crowd has yet to disperse. There's flashes as pictures are taken, mouths moving quickly, people calling out. They're making a lot of noise, you know, and yet you do not hear them. And the blond man kneeling by Will, he's making noise, too. Asking you something, staring down at her with worried blue eyes (what a normal blue, you think to yourself).

 

And you're angry.

 

And there is nowhere to direct your anger, and so you wear it. It is written in the tightness of your face, your muscles, tensed for a battle that is already over. It can be seen in the tears that fall across your cheeks, and the way your hand trembles as you hold it out towards the soldier. You're a finger-twitch away from ending all of this. A single movement, and the crowd could be gone, the blue eyes could be gone, the man in a suit of metal could be gone. Maybe you'd die using that much energy, you don't know. But you'd do it, you could dump them all into the darkness and let them _rot_.

 

It is very tempting. Your power flares out across your arms, your back, a sight that the watching crowd does not understand.

 

"She's alive," the soldier says, two fingers pressed to Willow's neck.

 

Your mind goes quiet. Slowly, the darkness subdues, your hand falling to your side. You regard him with clear distrust, and those blue eyes briefly leave Will's face to flick to your clenched fists. "Easy, now," he says quietly, his face pale. "She's alive."

 

He's repeating the statement, as if trying to convince himself. You force yourself to look at her now, truly look, and sure enough, there is a rise and fall to her chest. You crouch, tucking your head to your knees, and choke on a sob.

 

 _Dead eyes,_ your mind whispers.

 

"Not today," you whisper back.

 

"I don't know about you, but I'd _love_ an explanation for all of this," a voice drawls out from behind you.

 

"Stark," the soldier greets, his voice like ice.

 

"Captain," Tony replies.

 

Willow's captain.

 

You must have missed the sound of the quinjet landing, although you do hear the crowd murmur as someone begins to make their way towards your little group. You look up to see a woman clad in all black, her hair a striking red. Her expression is purposefully blank, impossible to read, and you immediately know she's practiced this talent. "There's less of an audience on the jet. Fury says we need to clear out. Loki and his team are long gone," she says, her voice smooth and controlled.

 

"She's not waking up, Natasha," Steve Rogers says, taking one of Willow's limp hands.

 

You're struck by how cemented in this world your friend has become, how much of an outsider you are. You don't care about this planet or its people – you wouldn't have lost any sleep over eviscerating the entire crowd of watchers earlier – but Willow cares. She makes you care. You're glad you didn't dump her captain into the dark alternate space out of misplaced fury.

 

The one you're mad at is long gone, according to the red-haired woman.

 

"Let's get her out of here," Romanoff says, motioning back towards the quinjet. She then fixes you with a guarded stare. "And you?"

 

Your cheeks are wet, your mind swimming with exhaustion from the situation as a whole. Your voice comes out strained, raw from your shouting.

 

"I go where she goes."

 

\---

 

"And you've no choice?" Sigrid asks, her slender hands clasped tightly in the skirts of her dress.

 

The house is silent, save for their hushed conversation. The pair sits in the living area while Brenna sleeps soundly in her room, unaware that anything is amiss.

 

Asmund fixes Sigrid with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "No, love. No choice. The army marches to aid the eastern kingdom. Asgard's indebted to them, you remember. They sent men when we needed them, and now they are in need of us. A master must go, to lead the sorcerers that accompany our troops."

 

"I don't understand why it has to be you," Sig retorts, her pretty lips pulled into a frown. "You've only _just_ become a master."

 

"And that's why it has to be me," Asmund says with a shrug, taking her hands in his so they will quit tearing at her dress skirt. "They don't expect any problems. Our forces are more than capable of dealing with whatever threat has come upon the east. This is not a war, but merely a battle. One that's expected to be very dull. Which is why it was decided I would attend the march. The others can't be bothered to go." He smiles again, and then adds, "A beginner's mission."

  
Sigrid worries her lip and sighs deeply. "When do you leave?"

 

"In three days' time," Asmund replies. He rubs his thumbs over the tops of her hands, an uncertain expression wilting his easy smile. "Will you... will you wait for me? Or does this change things?"

 

"Oh, by the Nine, of course it changes nothing," Sigrid scolds, rolling her eyes. The two find themselves grinning at one another, although the expressions inevitably fade. "Just... you have to be safe, alright?" Sig continues, squeezing Asmund's hands. "There's something going on. I know it. I still cannot contact the warrior, and I could not bear it if... if... you...."

 

"I'm right here, Sigrid," he says, and leans in to tenderly kiss her. "I love you, and I will return. I swear it."

 

\---

 

Thor kneels in the throne room before his father, and as is customary, he waits until he is asked to rise before he gets to his feet. "You wished to see me, Father?"

 

"I did," Odin says shortly. "We have... much to discuss."

 

Thor's interest is piqued, blond eyebrows rising as he waits. When Odin remains silent, Thor speaks up. "I am listening."

 

The Allfather sighs. "Thor, my son. You are the future of Asgard," Odin says, gazing down at him from the throne. "You are bound by duty to serve this kingdom, your people, and ensure they will not be left leaderless when this old king sees Valhalla. Once before, we initiated your coronation in this very room, and all present heard the conviction ringing in your voice. It is high time that we follow through."

 

"I'm to be king?" Thor asks.

 

"You were always meant to be king," Odin responds, his deep voice carrying throughout the golden throne room.

 

Thor is silent for a time, his mind chewing on Odin's words. Words that had once brought him so much joy... and now he feels nothing. "My brother...." Thor starts, but cannot think of how to end the sentence.

 

What is he trying to say? That Odin is wrong in stating that he has always been destined for the throne? Had their father not told them either brother would be worthy? It seems only right to bring up the lost prince now, as a diversion if anything. Thor cannot divulge the fact that his thoughts on ruling have been quite shaken by his time on Midgard....

 

"Is not here," Odin answers firmly.

 

"He's not dead," Thor states, not for the first time. "Despite what others think, what _you_ think."

 

Odin meets eye with Thor, mirror images of one another. "I said there was much to discuss."

 

"I do not understand," Thor says, frustration bubbling in his voice.

 

"I know Loki is not dead, Thor," Odin tells him. "Heimdall has seen him. And he is lost to us."

 

There is a heartbeat of silence.

 

"What?" Thor asks incredulously, shock making his voice come out in a whisper.

 

"Frigga has done all she can think of to bring Loki to his senses, save for going after him herself. His ambition has poisoned him. He is a different man, one you will not like," Odin warns.

 

"How long have you known?" Thor asks tightly.

 

"It matters not," Odin says.

 

"It does to me!" Thor exclaims, rolling thunder sounding in the distance.

 

"Calm yourself!" the king snaps. He rubs his face, and Thor can see the worry that hides in the weary action. "Asgard does not know. Not yet. But I am certain this will not last. Thor, I entreat you to consider the kingdom, _your_ future kingdom, and hold yourself from rash action."

 

"Where is he?" Thor questions, mind racing, piecing apart his father's speech.

 

"Midgard," Odin states.

 

"Midgard?" Thor says in horror. " _Midgard_?" He thinks on the Lady Jane Foster, on Darcy and Erik Selvig. "Why?"

 

"Who understands the machinations of a mad man?" Odin questions softly, hand again going to his face.

 

"You've given up," Thor says, pointing at the king accusingly. "Just like that, you'd give up on your son?"

 

"Nothing has swayed him, Thor," Odin says. "Nothing. Pleas from his mother, a band of Asgardian soldiers. Not even his warrior, who he claimed to love so dearly."

 

"I must go," Thor states, the same conviction in his voice as when he once took his kingly vows. "You may be ready to give up, Father, but I am not. I _will_ not."

 

"And if something goes wrong, what then?" Odin asks darkly. "Think of Asgard, boy. The people need you."

 

"My brother needs me," Thor says flatly. "It's been a year, Father. Would you not even allow me to try?"

 

The kingly mask of Odin slips away, replaced with the broken countenance of a torn father. "I cannot lose both of my sons."

 

"You won't," Thor vows with finality. "By the fates, you won't."

 

\---

 

Loki paces around the underground lab, ignoring the bustle of activity surrounding him as his agents ready everything to move. He cannot stay here, not anymore. His little base has been compromised in light of the recent circumstances. He's surprised it isn't crawling with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents already.

 

He paces in the lab.

 

Until suddenly, he does not.

 

Loki's feet still when he finds himself in a very familiar place. The scepter has brought him back to the Other's throne room (a dark and ugly excuse for a throne room in his opinion). His stomach twists, knowing what this meeting means.

 

"You summon me, and yet you are not here to greet me," Loki says in a jovial tone, eyes quickly scanning the room.

 

"Are you even worth a greeting?" the voice of the Other responds.

 

Loki seeks the sound and finds the being walking down the throne's steps. "Such callous words towards someone who holds the final thread in your grandly woven tapestry."

 

"Save your silvertongued threats," the Other orders. His yellow eyes peer eerily at Loki from under his cloak's dark hood. Loki tightens his hold on the scepter while he waits for the Other to speak. And when he does, it's in a hiss of malice. " _You broke, Asgardian_."

 

"I did no such thing."

 

"Liar," the Other states coldly. "A year apart, and still, she broke you."

 

"NO," Loki shouts, baring his teeth, mad blue light dancing in his eyes. The word echoes, bouncing back at him in a mocking way. He pointedly collects himself, although his jaw remains tight. "You doubt me."

 

The Other does not answer, which is the answer in itself.

 

"Everything is going accordingly," Loki states levelly. "I'm in possession of what you're after, and you'll get it when _I_ get what's due to me. Have no doubt about that."

 

"You are but words," the Other says.

 

"As are you," Loki counters. "What else is there but words until everything comes to fruition?"

 

The Other approaches him, and Loki holds the scepter up as a warning. The being is close, too close. Loki can smell his breath when he speaks. "Fail again, Asgardian... fail to deliver the Tesseract, and there will be no desolate planet, no hidden realm where he cannot find you. You think his revenge will bring you pain?" The Other laughs, his hand rising towards Loki's head. " _Pain is sweet in comparison_."

 

A blinding, searing burn shoots through Loki's mind, one that makes him clench his teeth....

 

He's back in the lab, on Midgard, with the mortals he controls. The scepter feels heavy in his hand, the blue jewel pulsing with an energy that mimics the pounding in his head.

 

Loki looks around, grounding himself in reality.

 

"Let's move," he barks out. "Now!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: "Of Darker" just reached the 550 kudos milestone! :D THAT'S CRAZY TO ME! And "Of Softer" is almost at 450, "Of Twisted" just shy of 250. I can't believe it. You guys are the most awesome readers a girl could ask for. Truly.
> 
> I'm really curious as to of how everyone found this fic. Did you see it on the Loki/Reader update page on AO3? Did someone recommend it? I'd love to know, if you have the time! :)
> 
> Anywho, thanks again, and remember that deep in his angst-filled heart, Loki loves you. ;]


	9. Something More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This past month was rough you guys. Had some personal stuff to deal with, but things are starting to look up. Regardless, it feels good to finally have this long-ass chapter done.  
> Thanks for your patience. Seriously, I've never been more thankful.
> 
> LET'S CHAT WITH LOKI, SHALL WE?

The ride in the quinjet is a blur to you, the tense conversations, the questions thrown your way. You have no doubt that those present are growing frustrated with your stoic silence, but your eyes never leave the face of your friend. To your surprise, it's Willow's captain that makes the questions stop.  You don't know why he cares, why he'd bother to step in on your behalf. Maybe he's tired, too. Maybe it's all just a little too much, and he's craving  _quiet_ like you are. 

 

You barely register the landing inside of the Helicarrier hangar. It doesn't matter. You’ve seen hovercrafts before, albeit not one of this size on Earth. 

 

But what does matter is when Rogers carefully picks up your friend, cradling her in his arms as he walks off of the jet without a word. You silently follow after him, ignoring the agents that have gathered in the hangar. 

 

Natasha Romanoff strides confidently towards Director Fury, whose one good eye is locked onto the backs of you and Rogers. Tony Stark trails behind her, curious gaze darting around the massive hangar. The Helicarrier is impressive, there's no doubt about it. 

 

You are not impressed. You follow the captain through seemingly endless metal halls, passing large rooms, countless agents. Eventually, he stops before an unremarkable gray door, adjusting Willow in his arms so that he can open it. 

 

You walk in after him, swiftly taking in your new surroundings. It's a small, simple room, holding only the necessities. A bed, with a chest at its end, upon which sits two duffle bags. You notice a door to the right that leads to a bathroom, and across from the bed is a couch. 

 

Military quarters; everything clean, simple, and in its proper place, with bland gray walls, no décor, and furniture designed for functionality rather than leisure. This is nothing like the ornate palace of Asgard (as even the Asgardian _barracks_ have comfortable and aesthetically pleasing lodgings). 

 

Quarters like this take you back to a past time and place – to your own home planet – and given a different set of circumstances, you might’ve called the simplicity comforting. 

 

Steve lowers Willow onto the bed, fussing over her, making sure she's comfortable. You sit on the couch, perched on the edge of the stiff cushion as you watch his every move. The spangled shield on his back shines in the light of the room, unmarked despite the earlier battle. He's gentle with her, clearly worried about the state she's in. There's a soft glow coming from Willow's chest, proof that her light still remains. You feel your throat tighten as you stare at your unconscious friend. 

 

Rogers cautiously removes the bag Willow carries, holding it in his hands for a moment before placing it beside her. You stare dully at it, wondering if all of her belongings still remain within. She's been with... with Loki. Maybe he made her ditch the notebook. You hope not. 

 

The captain clears his throat and your eyes shoot to his face. You're on guard at once, unsure of whether or not he’s going to try to throw you out. Instead, he holds a hand out towards you, his expression open, as if to show you he means no harm. "I'm Steve Rogers." 

 

You stare at his palm without taking it, your eyes narrowing as you give him your name. 

 

He takes your lack of friendly reciprocation in stride, lowering his hand as he says, "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. She talks a lot about you." His blue eyes cut to the side, to Willow lying on the bed. "She's missed you," he adds softly. 

 

Your fingers curl into fists and tears bite at your eyes as a new wave of guilt washes over you. The feeling is strong enough to keep you silent. Did he mean these statements to add insult to injury? He doesn't know you, he isn't aware of what you've been through this past year. You know you should've kept in better contact with your friend, you  _know_  that. You don't have to have some human telling you. 

 

Steve continues speaking, reaching out and taking one of the duffle bags from the foot of the bed as he does so. "Before I left, Carla packed some clothes for her." He gestures toward the remaining bag. "If you'd like to rummage through and find something to change into, I doubt she would mind. Feel free to use the bathroom and shower as you wish." 

 

You still don't have any words to offer him, but you're grateful for one thing: he's clearly realized you aren't going anywhere. You glance at the bag and then back to the captain. 

 

"Um, get some rest," he states, pulling his duffle’s strap over his shoulder. "I'll check back in, sometime tomorrow." He walks to the door, his fingers slipping around the handle as he adds, "Please let me know if she wakes up." 

 

And then he finally leaves, the door closing solemnly behind him. You breathe a quiet sigh in the following silence, frozen on the couch as you return your gaze to Willow. 

 

 _Your_ _fault_ , your mind hisses to you.  _You're_ the reason she's wrapped up in this mess, why she's involved with this world at all. The paths of your lives have careened off track, tumbling into areas and scenarios that were never meant to be. If she doesn't wake, you'll never forgive yourself. 

 

And Loki? That demented stranger of a man, you'll take him down with you. You owe it to Will, if anything. 

 

You feel sick, your stomach roiling uncomfortably. 

 

You force yourself into motion – you need to wash. You can still feel Loki’s fingers pressing into your wrist, your shoulder, your skin. You leave the door to the bathroom open, just in case something changes with Will. The warm water is welcoming, and you have to admit, you much prefer a human shower to an Asgardian bath. 

 

Willow's clothes, you know, will be too small for you. You sort through the items in her duffle bag and find a shirt that  _is_  tight, but not  _too_  tight. You settle for that, although you are aware that none of her pants will be even close to your size. Your leather bottoms will have to continue to suffice for now. 

 

You settle back on the small, uncomfortable couch. Sleep evades you. It's laughable, considering that you're so exhausted, but your mind is too busy to shut down, too caught up in the tumultuous emotions that plague you. You can't stop looking over at Will, hoping that she'll wake. You can't stop raging silently at Loki, fighting imaginary battles, seeking a way to win against him. 

 

Could you kill him? You'd... you'd like to think you could, if it came down to it, if there was no other way.... But.... 

 

You rub your eyes and sit up, beating back the urge to cry. 

 

Tears don't fix problems. 

 

You abandon your attempts at rest, nervously getting to your feet and starting to pace. Willow remains unconscious, her chest slowly rising and falling. Her state is a reminder of what Loki is now, what he's capable of doing.... That no one is safe, and he'll stop at nothing to achieve his desired goal. 

 

Your pacing and your dark thoughts make you feel trapped in the small room, and eventually, you convince yourself that walking around in the hall will be alright. You'll be right outside the door – close enough to be at Will's side in a moment's notice. You step out, looking over your shoulder at your friend's still form, and suck in a deep breath. 

 

"I take it nothing's changed," a level voice states, and you jump, heart flying into your throat as you instinctually drop into a fighting stance. 

 

Natasha stands in the hall, leaning against the smooth, metal wall as she surveys you. 

 

“Fuck,” you say as your heartbeat slowly falls back towards normal. You rise from your defensive crouch. “You scared me.” 

 

“Sorry,” Romanoff apologizes, although you aren’t quite sure it’s genuine. She crosses her arms, red hair bobbing with her movements. “I was going to knock, but you saved me the trouble.” She waits a moment to see if you’ll respond. 

 

Dead air. 

 

The agent’s sigh is the only outward hint of her irritation. “I wanted to talk to you, before… everyone gets together.” 

 

You suppress a groan. You know you’re going to have to talk to these people eventually, if you want to stay around your unconscious friend. You don’t have the energy to take Willow and ditch out on Earth yet, so you need to play it safe. For now. 

 

“About what?” you ask bluntly, wondering if she’s just going to repeat the questions they’d tried to ask you on the quinjet. 

 

There’s a flicker in Romanoff’s expression, an emotion you can’t quite read. She purses her lips and then asks, “How’d you do it?” She inclines her head towards Willow’s door. “Get him to… let her go.” 

 

Gods, you don’t want to get into this right now. You don’t know or trust this woman, you’re not about to explain your entire life to her. “I don’t know.” 

 

She pushes off of the wall, standing up straight in front of you. Her sleek agent’s uniform accentuates her body’s natural curves and hard-earned muscle. Although her posture is casual, everything – from the way she holds herself to the set of her jaw – says danger. “You two have history. That much is obvious. I don’t know in what way, or how much pull you have with Loki, but whatever you did worked.” 

 

There is an unspoken statement here that you easily pick up on. Natasha suspects you to be in league with Loki, that this may perhaps be nothing more than an elaborate ploy. 

 

“She’s still out,” you state coldly, tilting your head towards the room you’re beginning to wish you’d never left. “I don’t count that as a win.” 

 

“You should,” Natasha tells you. “There’s some who’d much rather be dead to the world than under Loki’s thumb.” 

 

You watch her, unsure of what to respond with. The agent meets your eyes, her gaze steady and intimidating. Finally, she asks, “Do you think you could get him to release someone else?” 

 

“He’s got someone you know?” you ask flatly, now understanding the reason for this encounter. “That sucks.” Her eyes narrow in a glare, so you continue, “Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I don’t know exactly what I did to make him let Will go, and even if I did, I doubt the same thing would work twice.” 

 

The following silence is heavy. Natasha looks away from you, her calculating gaze settling on the floor for a few moments. She rolls her shoulders, shrugging off this whole encounter. This has been a waste of time, just as she suspected. And she has somewhere to be. 

 

Finally, Romanoff turns and walks away, calling back to you over her shoulder. “Thanks for your time.” 

 

Her tone is not friendly. Not in the slightest. 

 

\--- 

 

You sulk in the hall for an hour or two, sitting against the wall next to Willow’s door with your legs stretched out in front of you. Your mind keeps feeding you unpleasant thoughts, and you ponder over what kind of interrogations Will must go through if she is to wake. She’s been under the influence of the enemy. Anyone trying to stop him will be desperate to pick her brain.  

 

You’ll have to get her off this fucking planet before that happens. If you had the energy, you’d whisk her away right now. 

 

 _But to where?_  your mind asks. And you hate admitting that you have no idea. Trooping across galaxies with an unconscious body will not be easy work. You’ll need a fuckton of energy. 

 

And for  _that_ , you’ll need sleep. 

 

\--- 

 

_You're in the prince's bed, your back pressed to his chest, his voice like silk tickling the shell of your ear._

 

_"Tell me you love me," he pleads softly, because when it is dark, and quiet, and he has you in his arms, it is not such a bad thing to hear._

 

 _Please._  

 

 _He needs to hear it, is_ _desperate for it._  

 

 _“I love you," you_ _whisper_ _with a small chuckle and an eye roll. “What, did you forget or something?”_  

 

And you know how the memory should continue. He should pull you closer to his chest, bury his face in your hair, string his arm over your waist and lace his fingers through yours, and he should reply (in an embarrassed way that you can’t help but find adorable), “… I’ll admit, it is good to be reminded sometimes.” 

 

But this is a dream, and not a memory, and you are not so lucky. 

 

Instead, he does not answer your joking inquiry. “Tell me you’ll be mine forever,” he requests, hand settling at the curve of your waist. 

 

You snort. “Yeah, okay. That’s why I’m marrying you, dumbass.” 

 

“Tell me you’ll do whatever I say,” his voice demands. 

 

You realize this is different. 

 

“What the... fuck?” you mutter, growing increasingly aware of the sinister atmosphere in the room. You attempt to sit up or turn around, but find you cannot move. 

 

“Tell me you’ll do whatever it takes to assist me.” His fingers are digging into your side, his voice no longer tender and caring. “Tell me you’ll kill for me. Tell me you’ll  **die**  for me.” 

 

“Get the fuck off!” 

 

You shout, you pull against him, but it’s no use. You’re losing track of yourself, of the room, of the bed beneath you. Only the hand remains, fingers boring into your side, a laugh bubbling up from the man behind you that makes your skin crawl. 

 

It's the same laugh from your previous dream - not one from your prince, but a cackle remembered from the past, from the unwanted lover, the one you'd silenced forever.

 

Your stomach hurts. 

 

Everything shifts. You realize it’s snowing. You’re standing now, staring out at a large expanse of white, a land with roaring winds and gray skies. 

 

The hand is still on your waist. You try to force yourself to turn around, heart thudding in your throat. You don’t want to see the face of your unwanted lover – his laugh is haunting enough. 

 

You feel as if your boots are made of lead. But you do turn, and you find yourself staring into the blood-red eyes of a grinning Jotun. 

 

“Loki?” you ask, utterly confused and terrified beyond reason. 

 

“Did you forget?” he asks with manic enthusiasm, his long, blue fingers locking around your upper arms. “Did you forget what I was? I told you didn’t I? I told you, but you didn’t understand, when we spoke of  _monsters_!” 

 

You jerk away, but his chilly grip remains firm. His smile is wide, too wide, and he laughs the laugh that isn’t his. 

 

You pull and pull, and his mouth is opening wider and wider, full of sharp teeth that threaten to tear you apart, to swallow you piece by piece… and you finally break away. 

 

You sprint from him, across the snowy plain. You can hear him pursuing you, laughing loudly with the voice he does not own, and you push yourself faster because  **you** **have to get away.**  

 

But this is a dream. And in this dream, you have no powers, no way to defend yourself. You fall, snow scattering from the impact, although you can no longer feel the chill. 

 

You can no longer feel anything. 

 

You nearly trip again as you get to your feet, and now you find yourself running through the dark. Your pursuer vanishes, lost to the dreamscape of snow and ice and monsters. You’re sprinting as fast as you can, tears in your eyes, to a familiar place, between hell and hel. 

 

It’s as if he’s been waiting for you. The prince is a solitary figure, standing in the blank expanse that breaches his world of demons and your own. 

 

Your frantic dash ceases, your fear falling away and replaced with a mixture of other troubling emotions. But it’s ultimately his eyes that make you step forward. 

 

It’s just a dream. It’s okay to give in, for a single moment. You’re allowed a little weakness in the safety of your own mind. 

 

Loki walks towards you, to meet you halfway, and his expression is an old one, a softer one. When you reach him, he immediately wraps you in his arms, and you cling to the prince – a raft in a stormy sea – and your only coherent thought is:  **green**. 

 

“What are you doing here, love?” he asks, arms tightening protectively around you as you press your head against his chest. “I didn’t think you’d….” 

 

“I’m dreaming,” you tell him quietly. Your fingers fist in his clothes, holding tightly to this version of Loki lest you lose him, too. 

 

“A dream, is it?” Loki asks, lips brushing ever so gently against your forehead. The edge of his mouth curls up into a cheeky smirk. “Do you dream of me often?” 

 

“Every night,” you answer, your voice hushed. You swallow hard, tears coming unbidden as you feel Loki’s hand rest securely on your back. “Every damn night.” 

 

The smirk vanishes at once, and he gathers you to him as if this is the last chance he’ll have. Finally, he begins to talk. “This is selfish of me,” he murmurs in defeat. “…. You’ve always been the epitome of my selfishness. Your spirit, your mind, your body – my weakness, as they’ve rightly reminded me. I’ve betrayed you. And I’ve no right to hold you now.” 

 

“I’m… so… mad at you,” you state, teeth clenching as you try to keep your voice from wavering. “I can’t forgive you.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

“And Will….  _Will_ _ow_ , Loki. Why?” you ask desperately, looking up into those shrewd green eyes. “She won’t wake up. I’ve lost you, and her, and now I’m alone in a ship of strangers.” 

 

There is a slight edge of apprehension in his tone as he answers. “Strategically, the healer could have played a paramount part in my victory. But hearing you….” He takes a deep breath, arms once again tightening around you. He continues to speak, his voice purposefully level. “The fact that she has not woken is not of my doing, if you’ll believe me. Her power fought the scepter’s influence from the very start. I’d not be surprised if her state is a defensive maneuver of her own mind’s doing.” 

 

“I thought you cared,” you say through clenched teeth. “You know what she means to me, and you still – did it.” 

 

He’s silent for a beat, his muscles rigid. “Logically speaking –” 

 

“Fuck your logic,” you tell him, anger once more starting to course through you. “You’re acting  _crazy_ , there’s no  _logic_  here. Cut the bullshit.” 

 

He chuckles darkly, the sound thrumming in his chest. The two of you stand in tense silence for a few lengthy moments. At last, he asks under his breath, “How often have you thought about killing me?” 

 

Your hands tighten into fists behind the prince’s back. “You mean over the past few days, or this last year?” 

 

Another dark chuckle, although this one holds no humor whatsoever. “If we’re counting back, I suppose we should start from the very moment we met. I assume you plotted my untimely demise every day from that infirmary bed.” 

 

“I’m. Not. Joking,” you spit, wave after wave of  _hurt_  prompting tears to silently slip down your cheeks. 

 

“Ah. I suppose I’ve earned that,” Loki says, attempting to sound casual, uncaring. But then he sighs, leaning the side of his head against yours. “You… You can’t say you don’t understand. There’s a part of this…  _power_  that calls to you, too. I always saw the tint of color in your eyes, leftover from your curious, subtle glances. A blue to the steel. And when I finally saw you again, I thought….” He pauses, hesitant, his tone failing to hide the undercurrent of genuine hurt. “I simply do not understand what’s holding you back. You care not for this planet, so what purpose would it serve for you to defend it? And from  _me_?” He trails off, clearly following the silent train of thought. “And don’t preach to me of morality, warrior. You would’ve killed them all in the museum’s courtyard, we both know it.” 

 

It’s just a dream. You can be honest in a dream. “I’m no saint,” you say after a moment. “Things could’ve been different, if you weren’t such a  _fucking idiot_.” You have to take a couple of deep breaths to calm the overwhelming rage that burns in your chest. “You want to take over a planet? A realm? That’s your business. I don’t give a shit. I’m not interested in ruling over people, but  _clearly_  that’s your thing, so whatever, right? You can’t have Asgard, so go set yourself up somewhere else. I get it. I’d’ve suggested a less… upfront way of going about it. Because honestly, where’s the class here? There’s none, you absolute moron.” 

 

“Shall I give you the speech again, about the consequences of insulting those who hold status above you? Although you  _must_  have that one memorized by now,” Loki quips sarcastically. 

 

“Shut the  _fuck_ up. I’m not done talking,” you snap, pulling back to glare once more into those familiar green eyes. “Like I said, taking over a planet – that’s your business. You know what’s  _my_ business, Loki?" You jab a finger towards the middle of his chest. "It’s my business when  _you don’t tell me._ When you fucking ditch out on me – without an explanation –  _for a fucking year_. When you  _mindwipe_ _my best friend, you_ ** _bastard_** _._ ” You blink angry tears from your eyes. “And you’re right. I don’t give a shit about this planet. But  _Will_   _does_. So, go play god somewhere else. I don’t care what you do anymore. Just don’t do it here.” 

 

It feels good, to finally get out some of the ‘what ifs’ you’d pushed to the back of your thoughts. You take a few steps away, wiping at your eyes. Even in a dream, you hate crying. 

 

Loki’s slowly shaking his head, his gaze downcast. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand. But that doesn’t mean… that I’m not at fault.” He looks at you, something akin to shame flashing across his face. “The scepter, the power…. It does something to the mind.” 

 

“Don’t start trying to feed me bullshit,” you warn icily. 

 

“Each action is my own,” he says softly. “Calculated… yet also instinctual. Acting on what will further myself and my ambitions.” 

 

There’s a half a second, where the green starts to fade, growing brighter, shifting into a colder color…. You take a step back, heart beginning to pump faster, and he takes note of this with a jolt of surprise. The change stops,  _your_  green settling once more to its normal hue, and Loki winces and rubs his temples. 

 

“This is unfair. To the both of us. It’s only going to make what’s to come even harder. So… I will say it while I still have the sense… while I continue to delve deeper into this stolen moment of weakness.” Loki stares intensely at you, and you find yourself unable to look away. “I... am sorry,” he whispers. “It’s unfortunate that my actions have led us to this ugly outcome. They cannot be undone, nor forgiven. And you deserve better.” 

 

“I do,” you agree firmly. 

 

An easy smirk skates across the pain. “I’ve not regretted any of my actions, you know. Although, if given the chance, I can’t say I wouldn’t change a decision or two. It’s as you said. Things could’ve been different.” 

 

You let out a dry laugh, your throat tight as you stare at the man in front of you. “Yeah… no kidding.” 

 

Your surroundings are starting to fade….  _He’s_ starting to fade. 

 

“This… won’t happen again,” Loki says sullenly, his voice echoing in the nothingness. “I can’t afford the risk. And… I’ve hurt you. Even now, once you wake, this will hurt you, too.” 

 

“Used to it,” you tell him quietly. 

 

You'd swear those emerald eyes are trying to memorize your face. Loki reaches for your hand, but his fingers pass through yours as if the both of you are made of nothing more than air. You think you hear someone say your name. You think you’re crying again. 

 

“Tell me you love me,” he requests in a broken whisper. “Even if you don’t mean it, even if it’s a lie. Lie to me. A last time, please. Before I decide again that this weak part of me is illogical and unnecessary, before I cast it aside as I’ve consistently done so, because I am afraid –” He chokes on the word. “… I-I am afraid I can’t stop loving you.” All you can see of him is the green, but you still catch his voice saying your name, almost desperately. “I don’t deserve to hear it, but I cannot help but beg. Just… Just in case.” 

 

 _Just in case._ The words ring in your ears. You’ve both said this phrase before. He’s acting as if one of you…. As if the outcome is inevitable…. “It doesn’t matter, Loki,” you say softly. “It doesn’t matter, because this is just a dream, a dream-you that my mind made up to say what I wish you would say. What I wish you would’ve said a long time ago. It doesn’t matter if I love you or not.” 

 

The green is gone. A vaguely familiar voice is calling your name, for sure this time. 

 

You hear Loki’s words, as if from a distance, a canyon between the two of you. “Sometimes a dream is a dream, love,” he tells you hoarsely. “And sometimes it’s something more.” 

 

\--- 

 

There’s a hand on your shoulder, shaking you, bringing you back to the real world. The familiar voice says your name again, worry spiking in the tone. Your eyes fly open and you shoot up into sitting position, gasping for air as you panic. 

 

You’re in the little room, on the uncomfortable couch, staring up into the face of Steve Rogers. Loki's voice echoes in your mind, whispering remnants of a conversation you can't fully remember. 

 

“I’m sorry,” the captain says hurriedly, backing up a few paces. “I knocked and there was no reply. You were muttering, but you wouldn’t wake up.” 

 

He glances over at Willow, who has yet to regain consciousness, and you realize where his fear has stemmed from. “No, no, I’m… I’m fine. I’m awake.” You wipe the wetness from your face without meeting the captain’s eyes. Your voice is rough, your throat stinging from your screaming in the courtyard. “How long has it been?” 

 

“It’s barely dawn,” Rogers says, taking Will’s limp hand as he sits beside her on the bed. “Time zone change has us all a little… off schedule. But I was hoping she’d….” He trails off, looking down at his and Will’s intertwined fingers. 

 

“She was always an early riser,” you say quietly. “Earlier than me, at least.” Rogers doesn’t reply immediately. You watch him for a second or two, and then you say, “You really do care about her.” 

 

“I really do,” he affirms, meeting your gaze at last. 

 

You pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around them. “She’s told me about you. Showed me your picture a few times. Said you’re some kinda super hero.” 

 

Steve snorts, blue gaze flickering towards Will’s face. “She didn’t say it like that,” he retorts. When you shrug, he rolls his eyes. “‘Super hero' is a big exaggeration.” 

 

“It’s what I got out of it,” you state. “Didn’t recognize you with the helmet on yesterday. Granted, there was a… lot going on at the time.” 

 

Rogers grimaces and nods his head. “Understandable.” 

 

There’s a short silence. You can hear the distant, muffled noises of voices and footsteps from the Helicarrier’s other occupants. 

 

“I don’t know if we’re going to get along, Steve,” you blurt out in an expressionless tone, rubbing one of your eyes with the heel of your palm. “But whether we do or not… thanks. For loving my friend. And being good to her. And all that romantic shit…. She likes that kind of stuff.” 

 

He chuckles, albeit a little awkwardly, as if he isn't quite sure what to make of your comment. “I do love her. I thought… I thought I’d lost her. But you know, you’re the reason she’s back, so really, I should be thanking you.” 

 

“I didn’t…. I….” You rest your forehead on the top of your knees, as if this will somehow help you hide from the guilt. “She’s not back,” you finally get out. 

 

“Don’t,” Rogers says, his tone gentle but firm. “Don’t do that to yourself.” 

 

You can’t respond. You have nothing to say to Willow’s captain, and you know he's unsure of what to say to you. The continued silence is thick with unspoken words. 

 

Steve finally sighs, gently releases Willow’s hand, and gets to his feet. He seems tired, as if there’s an unbearable weight on his broad shoulders; invisible, but oh so heavy. He meets your gaze. “Fury wants to talk to you. Director Fury.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my Tumblr pals LittleMissSyreid, amityasta, temerey, danobonano, and pandemoniumforsupernatural for leaving me words of encouragement on my posts and in my inbox during my struggle to get this chapter done. And always a huge shoutout to my bestie and beta reader, shootingstarsojourner for sticking with me <3  
> Thanks!!!


	10. Breaking Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt your daily dose of Pain™️ to bring you Sass Levels 9000.

“If what you say about this… _Banner_ is true….” Loki muses, rubbing his jaw as he thinks.

 

“It is,” Barton confirms from the pilot’s seat of the stolen jet. “Their next move will be to bring him in. They’ll have sent Nat. Fury’s starting his collection.”

 

“’The _Avengers’_ , you said?” Loki asks, not bothering to hide the scorn in his voice. “What a ridiculous name for such a ragtag group.”

 

“I didn’t come up with it,” Barton replies with a shrug. “Either way, Banner could be an issue.”

 

There’s a moment of silence between the two, the low hum of the jet filling the air of the cockpit.

 

“Or… the solution,” Loki states slowly. A grin creeps across his face, growing ever larger as his mind races down several possible paths. “Yes…. Potentially, _all_ of my problems could be solved…. It will take some finesse… but it is possible.”

 

Clint raises an eyebrow, eyes still trained on the dark sky through the jet’s windshield. “Banner? A solution? You’ll have to explain that one, because all I’m seeing in our future is a big, green problem.”

 

“We’ll have to split up,” Loki continues, ignoring Barton’s statement. His grin transitions into a smug smirk. “Ah. I wonder how long it will take for them to locate me.”

 

\---

 

"Hello. Sit down."

 

You comply to Fury's order, settling into the very uncomfortable chair in front of his desk.

 

The director has an intimidating presence, one that even you don’t fail to notice. He wears all black, from his gloves to his boots, and you can’t help but admire the trench coat. You suddenly feel very out of place in your Asgardian leather pants and borrowed T-shirt.

 

He surveys you, his one eye seemingly scrutinizing every little detail. Finally, he sighs, shakes his head, and relaxes into his chair. "You want to know where this silent act's getting you?" he asks, tapping a gloved finger on the desktop's edge. "Nowhere."

 

He continues watching you, and you continue not saying anything. Finally, he speaks again, his tone holding a hint of amusement. "You just seem dead set on making enemies instead of allies.” He shakes his head. “Do you _really_ want to be alone here?”

 

You stare at his desktop, maintaining your silence. However, this time, it’s because you honestly don’t have an answer to the question.

 

Fury ends the dead air. "We're talking right now, privately, because the morning debrief is in about ten minutes. And I expect you to have a thing or two to say.” He locks gazes with you. “And if not? I want you off – my – motherfucking – ship. Are we clear?”

 

“Uh, huh. Sure,” you state. “Crystal.”

 

Fury’s eye narrows, and he leans forward slightly. "Look, you've already dragged one snarky asshole into this mission, and I don't need another one.”

 

"Well, no one needs two assholes, sir."

 

Fury stares at you for a second, and then rubs a hand across his face. "I'll choose to ignore that." He sighs and leans back in his seat again. "Speaking of Tony, I already had a little meeting with him, too. And he had a lot to say about how you get around. Some kind of dark dimension void shit that just lets you pop up wherever you want to be. Now, with a power like that, you'd understand why I'd be suspicious of you... disappearing. And I'd bet money you want off this boat. That you'd like nothing more than to disappear and take your friend with you. Right? How close am I?”

 

Your stomach lurches uncomfortably, and you cross your arms. “What’s the point of sticking around in this tin can, huh? Will’s still not awake, and it’s not like humans will be able to do anything about it. Might as well look for some actual help.”

 

"I can't imagine ol' Captain America taking that in stride,” Fury comments offhandedly. “He's grown pretty attached.”

 

“Blondie’s nice and all, but if you think I’m about to trip over myself to make him happy, you’d be mistaken there, _sir_ ,” you say.

 

"Alright, and what about Willow? How do you think she'll react if she wakes up _anywhere_ other than here? She's put in a lot of time on Earth, with S.H.I.E.L.D. and Rogers. I mean, even the people love her. Dubbed her ‘Lady Light’.” He spreads out his hands, his fingers flaring out to emphasize the nickname. “You're telling me she's _not_ going to demand you take her ass right back here? Or… I suppose she could just do that herself, but I can’t imagine she’d be very pleased with you making decisions for her.”

 

“Hey, I’m just doing what I have to do,” you state defensively. “I don’t know any of you fucking people, I don’t know what your organization is capable of, and I don’t trust you to keep my friend safe. So, yeah, if I want to get her out of a bad situation, I’ll go ahead and make that choice. It’s called survival.”

 

"I'd call it cowardice, running away like that. A warrior my ass.”

 

You move before you fully process what you’re doing. You shoot out of your chair so fast that it clatters backwards. Your teeth are clenched, your jaw hurts. You’re torn between assaulting the director or marching out of his office. Neither seem like bad ideas.

 

But before you can make another move, Fury slams a folder down on his desk between the two of you.

 

"Take a look," he tells you as he slides the folder towards you.

 

His tone is an order disguised as an offer. He knows you’ll look.

 

You stare at the manila folder for a good ten seconds before glancing up at Fury. He’s not even looking at you; he’s sipping on a mug of coffee and going over what you think is a schedule on a notepad.

 

That bastard.

 

You flip open the folder, and your heart drops into your boots. A familiar face stares back at you from the page – your own. Years ago. Your first time on Earth.

 

"Underground lab out in Colorado...” Fury says slowly, setting his mug down, “and then you two went on to destroy another one in Arizona.... Killing humans at fourteen. That's pretty young.”

 

You’re absolutely floored as you stare at the list of information S.H.I.E.L.D. has on you, blurry photos taken from hidden locations, details you’d never told a soul. “How…?” you choke out.

 

"Yeah. We found you." Fury reaches out and flips a few pages over. "And then all that mess in New Mexico last year. You've had quite the time on Earth, it seems.”

 

Your mouth has gone dry, and you back up a few paces until your legs knock into the fallen chair. “Stop it. Just. Leave us alone.”

 

"That's no longer a viable option."

 

You can’t stop staring at the folder. At terrible pieces of your life laid out in little bullet points.

 

Fury’s voice cuts the silence once more. "Let's get in a little practice, huh? Before the meeting. Why don't you help me fill in some of these blanks here?"

 

“Not a lot to fill in,” you state in disgust. “Guess you guys are thorough.”

 

“Indeed,” Fury replies. “We are. But I was hoping for the name of this organization. I don’t care for blank spaces in my files.”

 

“The Ordinat," you say, the words heavy on your tongue. "They took us, alright? We didn’t want to be here.” You clench your fists as you stare at the folder. After a second, you continue speaking, your tone soft, almost urgent. “We were young, me and Will. Didn’t understand for a long time that not only had they taken us from our home, but that we were actually _off-planet_.” You jab a finger at the file. “The Ordinat had bases all over, doing experiments where our world’s government couldn’t find them. They’ve always latched on to whatever disgusting group of evil people they could worm their way into, whoever would help them gather power or tech. Or whoever was stupid enough to not know they were being used. Back then they had a group of humans helping them.”

 

"Hydra."

 

“I never knew their name,” you state. “Never wanted to. They were all the same to me. So, yeah, when we got the chance, we got the hell out. Killed them however we could. Fucked their base up, found the next one, and fucked it up, too.” You shove the folder back across to Fury, who stops it with a finger before it reaches the edge of the desk. You meet his gaze. “What do you _want_?”

 

The director closes your folder and steeples fingers. He’s won. "I assume you've heard the saying: an enemy of my enemy is my friend.” He gives you a wry smile. “Now, I'll be the first to admit, 'friend' isn't the right word for this situation. But Willow? She knows how to make friends, and friends in high places at that. You want to sit here and talk to me about survival? Well, I'm telling you, your chances are slim if you don't have the right people by your side.”

 

“The right people, huh?” you echo, your voice tight.

 

Fury opens a drawer in his desk and tucks the folder out of sight. "Let's be clear: I don't like you, you don't like me." He shrugs and makes a face "Fine. No one has to like each other on this boat. But our common enemy has united us to a singular cause. And I am here to orchestrate that cause." He gestures between the two of you. "Cooperation."

 

“And what’s that supposed to entail?” you ask.

 

"Any and all information on Loki, we need. That's just the way it is, if we're going to beat him," he states plainly, as if such a thing is simple. “And I won’t say ‘no’ to having your abilities as an asset. Could make for an effective team.”

 

You hate this entire conversation, this room, this man. You hate him because the things he’s saying make sense. You know you have to concede, that you have to admit you cannot do this on your own. “…. Fine.”

 

"Good. So, let's take a little walk, shall we?" Fury rises from his desk, carefully pushing in his chair. He steps past you (and your toppled chair) and out into the hallway. "And when you're asked to speak, you'll speak."

 

"I'm not a dog," you say coldly, following behind the director.

 

"What are you then? An ally, or a pain in my ass?" he asks without turning around.

 

"Ally," you answer begrudgingly.

 

"Then fucking act like it." After a few more paces, he slows to a stop and then turns to face you. "The people out there? They care about your friend. And if you do, too, you'll drop this bullshit cold exterior. No one's allowed to have secrets on this ship but me.”

 

\---

 

The first thing you notice is the pile of plates in the center of the meeting table; the team has apparently had a small breakfast. The second thing you notice is Tony, spinning around in his chair to say, “Oh, look, they’re here. Morning! You’re late.”

 

“We’re on my time here. I’m not late – you’re all early,” Fury replies, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and taking a seat.

 

You realize that the one empty seat is between Rogers and Stark. Not ideal, but it’s your only option. To Steve’s right are two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents you don’t recognize.

 

“Well, I for one think we should get started,” Tony comments, spinning back around to face the table.

 

Fury ignores Tony and states your name. “This is Maria Hill and Phil Coulson. You already know Stark and Rogers.”

 

“Oh, yes, we’ve met,” the agent named Phil Coulson says, nodding towards you and giving you a smile.

 

“We… have?” you ask, a bit thrown.

 

“New Mexico,” he says, holding a hand out as if this statement will remind you. “Those creatures, Thor, god of thunder. I mean, we didn’t officially meet, but –”

 

“Fuck those monsters,” Tony butts in, pointing towards Coulson and opening his mouth to start on what is likely a very long tirade. “One of those freaks ruined my party –”

 

“This isn’t why we’re here,” Maria Hill states quickly. “New Mexico is in the past. We have new problems to deal with.”

 

“Oop, you’re right,” Tony replies, immediately shifting gears. “And I believe those problems go by the name ‘Loki’.”

 

“For once, I’ll agree with Stark,” Fury says. All eyes are now on him as he states, “Let’s talk Germany.”

 

“Actually, this, uh, all starts before Germany,” Tony points out, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at you. “Got people showing up in my tower without knocking. S.H.I.E.L.D. having agents go missing, aliens popping up on our planet with superpowers. I mean, come on, guys, are we not going to talk about this?”

 

“Start at Germany, Stark,” Rogers states from your right side.

 

“Yes, beings from other realms have visited Earth,” Fury says. “But this one in particular poses a large threat. He’s got a massive energy source at his disposal, and that scepter is nothing to overlook either.”

 

“I know he has the tesseract,” Steve states with a very disapproving frown, “but I have no idea where the scepter came from. Unless he just grabbed the both of them on his way out of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

“What now?” Tony asks.

 

“We had nothing to do with the scepter, Rogers,” Fury tells him bluntly.

 

“Okay, wait. Tesseract, like, the glowy blue energy cube that Rogers dumped into the ocean?” Tony asks.

 

Steve narrows his eyes at Tony, and you feel like rolling your chair backwards out of the line of fire.

 

“That’s the one, yes,” Maria states. “We need to know what Loki’s planning regarding the tesseract.”

 

“Well, he went to Germany for iridium,” Phil pipes up. “He’s building… something.”

 

“But the scepter,” Steve repeats. “I’ve never seen it before.”

 

“Neither have we,” Fury states, and then looks over towards you with an eyebrow raised. “Unless I’m about to hear differently.”

 

And now everyone’s looking at you. Tony’s chair squeaks as he swivels to turn towards you. You would like nothing more than to sink into the floor. This will not be fun.

 

“Yeah, I’ve seen it before,” you admit sullenly, forehead creasing as you try to wrangle your anger.

 

“Really?” Fury asks, leaning back in his chair. “And where might that be exactly? Knowing the origin may help us combat the problem.”

 

“Asgard,” you answer.

 

“Asgard,” Tony states. “What a vague answer. And once you take into consideration that the place doesn’t exist, I’d have to go ahead and say you’re lying.”

 

There’s a resounding silence, and he eventually looks around the table. You can visibly see the realization dawn on him. “Loki,” Tony says in disbelief. “Like, Norse mythology Loki?” No one verbally confirms his answer, but he can see it on everyone’s faces. Quietly, he adds, “Oh, my God.”

 

“So, this thing is from Asgard, then?” Hill asks you.

 

“Uh, I think so,” you tell her.

 

“Do you know how Loki came to have possession of it?” Fury questions.

 

“He kept it after a fight, I think. He’s not, like, the original owner,” you add for clarification.

 

“Who was?” Coulson asks.

 

“I don’t know, he just brought it back,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “He’s always keeping random shit that he’s won from battle.”

 

There’s another resounding silence, only this time you know what they’re all thinking. It’s only a matter of time before they ask.

 

And Fury does.

 

“What exactly is your connection to this… person,” the director questions. “You seem to know him quite well.”

 

“Well enough to pull a little favor and free Sunshine back there,” Tony adds.

 

“Yes, I know him,” you say. “Obviously. He’s an Asgardian prince, alright? A lot of people know him.” You pause for a moment, to see if Steve Rogers will rat you out. When the soldier remains silent, you add, “Loki disappeared last year. This is the first time he’s resurfaced.”

 

“So, he wants Earth, then?” Hill asks. “He’s said as much. He has the tesseract, and a way to gather followers. Albeit unwilling.”

 

“We don’t have enough information to work off of,” Steve mutters.

 

“So, wait,” Tony interjects, glancing over towards you. “You supposedly know this psycho, and we’re just supposed to trust you?”

 

“I’m not working with him, if that’s what you’re implying,” you say shortly. “He brainwashed my best friend.”

 

“Supposedly,” Tony states.

 

You’re working up to a loud swear when Steve cuts in. “Enough, Stark,” he says, shaking his head. “I believe her. I’ll vouch for her credibility.”

 

You do your best to keep the shock from showing on your face. The captain doesn’t even truly know you, and yet he’s standing up for you. A soul too good for this world, to be sure. Of course Willow would find someone like him.

 

“That’s good enough for me,” Phil states with a smile. “So, what’s the next step, here?”

 

“The next step is finding that bastard,” you growl.

 

“We should pull up street cam feeds from the area around the museum,” Hill suggests. “We’ll hopefully be able to see where he was headed after the incident.”

 

“Or, _or_ ,” Tony says quickly, “we could use your facial recognition program in an expansive search and figure out where he’s been slinking around. Won’t take long to set up, if I'm right about the sort of tech you've got on this ship.”

 

“Fine,” Fury agrees.

 

“Oh, and I’m going to need, uh, a packet of information on this whole situation, like stat,” Tony adds. “Not really appreciating being kept in the dark, here, guys. I’ll accept info in paper or digital form. Thanks.”

 

“We’ll reconvene once the scans are done,” Fury decides, and rises from the table. “Stark, we’ll get you set up in a room.”

 

Everyone gets to their feet, following Fury out. Steve breaks off and heads down the hall towards Will’s room. You assume he’ll be back after he checks on her. You find yourself lagging at the back of the group, and you’re more than a little surprised when you find Stark is matching steps with you.

 

“Sorry about the whole accusing you of working with the psychopath thing,” he states. “But hey, gotta’ cover all our bases. Hard to trust people.”

 

“You’re telling me,” you mutter.

 

“So, quite the one-eighty you did yesterday, huh?” Tony asks casually. “One second you’re dragging me through hell, the next you’re…. Screaming.”

 

You wince. “Yeah, whatever. I don’t know. She’s my best friend. For a bit, she was my only friend. Just… shut the fuck up.”

 

“You can ask anyone around us, they’ll all tell you I don’t know how to do that,” Stark replies with a faux, jovial tone.

 

“Why’d you try to stop me?” you ask suddenly, remembering the cold metal of the suit as Tony’s fingers wrapped around your arm. “Back in the courtyard.”

 

You don’t receive an answer immediately. “Seemed like the thing to do, I guess,” Tony finally says. “Shit happens. People do dumb things when they’re upset.”

 

“I do dumb things all the time,” you say with a shrug.

 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he replies.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“So, anyway, what’s the deal with Asgard, huh? You’re… Asgardian?”

 

“No, I’m not,” you inform him. “But I’ve lived there a while now. I fight battles for Odin and shit.”

 

“Interesting,” Stark comments. “Still hard to believe, but I blame being left out of the loop.” Before you can reply, he continues. “Speaking of interesting things, I’ve noticed you’ve yet to ask me about the glowing circle in the center of my chest.”

 

“I mean I noticed it,” you inform him, surveying the front of his shirt. “I just didn’t think it was important.”

 

Stark puts a hand over the aforementioned blue circle, feigning pain. “ _Ouch_. Really? You didn’t notice that I was the only one sporting this lovely accessory?”

 

“I don’t know!” you exclaim. “Humans are always on some sort of weird trend! I just thought that was your thing! I mean, I’ve got bigger problems than trying to figure out why your chest glows. I guessed it had something to do with your suit or… something.”

 

“What? No!” Tony says, absolutely offended. “This bad boy is what’s keeping me alive.” He taps on the front of the circle, and you can hear the little pinging noise it makes.

 

Before you can answer, a deafening thunderclap sounds from outside of the ship, and you can feel the vibrations in the metal beneath your feet.

 

Almost immediately, alarms start blaring. The noise echoes loudly in the hall, and you can hear people shouting up ahead. Fury stops dead in his tracks, yelling out questions to whatever agents are near as he tries to identify where the problem is.

 

You swiftly follow, half of your mind planning a route back to Willow and the other half wondering if the ship has flown into a storm and you’re about to fall out of the sky.

 

You can hear people screaming about cabin pressure, about a sudden storm, about an intruder… but it doesn’t _really_ click into place until you hear a very familiar voice bellowing out your name.

 

“WARRIOR?! I KNOW YOU ARE HERE!” He can’t keep the excitement out of his tone, even in the face of a dire situation. “REVEAL YOURSELF! WE HAVE A MISSION TO COMPLETE!”

 

“Oh, my God,” you state, although no one hears you over the thunderous voice and screeching alarms.

 

And then you take off down the hall, sprinting past Fury, knocking into agents that scramble to get out of your way but aren’t quite fast enough. You work your way towards the voice’s yelling, dashing around corners until you practically barrel into a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with a gun held on the god of thunder.

 

You ignore the guards, the alarms, the sound of wind rushing through the door Thor bullied his way through, and run straight into the arms of a familiar friend.

 

“There you are!” he says, and that’s when you start crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo the Fury convo was supposed to happen in the last chapter, but these chapters are SO LONG, I COULD NOT PUT IT IN THERE. But yes, someone had to tell our dear Reader to play well with others lol  
> Anyway, WELCOME BACK THOR


	11. Unplanned Honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's ya girl, back at it again with a FUCKING UPDATE.
> 
> It only took a thousand years. This one fought me, every single word. Sometimes writing is super easy and flows well and everything is fan-fuckin-tastic, and sometimes you sit and stare at the same chapter for over a month.... lol
> 
> Anywho, I'm dedicating this chapter (and my life) to Temerey, who has not only translated OSE and started translating ODE into German, but also popped over to my Ko-fi and decided I was cool enough to deserve coffee.  
> Seriously, Tem, you're the best.  
> <3

Thor finds your tears amusing, and can’t help but laugh kindly as you hug him. “Aw, there now, warrior! You’re alright!” His upbeat attitude slips, the chuckle dying in his chest. He gently pats your back as he says, “It has been hard, I’m sure.”

 

The care in his voice both hurts and heals, and it almost makes you lose your composure again.

 

You clue in to the confused shouting of the agents surrounding you and step out of Thor’s embrace. The group from the briefing meeting has finally caught up, including Steve Rogers, who runs into the room in a mad dash with his spangled shield held at the ready. Fury sends Hill on ahead, to gather a repair team and silence the alarms. You then fully realize everyone’s attention has been turned to you and your companion. Despite the audience, you cannot make yourself leave Thor’s side.

 

He’s dressed in his battle armor, the design intricate and impressive, and his winged war helm rests securely on his head. He is a grand representation of Asgard itself, his very presence giving off a power that none in the room miss.

 

It takes a bit for things to calm down, for the agents to realize that the brawny, blond man with the hammer is not a threat. You hurriedly stifle your crying and dry your face, because what sort of warrior cries over _every little thing_ , as you have been as of late? _The fuck is wrong with me?_ you think crossly to yourself.

 

“Thor.” The voice of Director Fury rings out over the noise of the alarms and roaring wind. “Wasn’t really expecting you, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

 

“You know of me,” Thor states, surveying the one-eyed director.

 

“Like, Thor-Thor?” Tony pipes up with a groan. “Actual-Thor? Asgard-Thor?”

 

“New Mexico,” you say in answer to Thor, talking over Stark. Your voice is still slightly hoarse from your crying, and you have to clear it before you add, “Eyepatch is the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

“Director Fury,” Fury states, narrowing his eye at you.

 

“I remember S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Thor says with a nod. He casts his gaze over all present, an amused expression crossing his face. “Quite the crowd, warrior! Although there is no time for pleasantries. We must be off!”

 

“Whoa, wait a second, now,” Steve says, taking a step forward.

 

“Who are you?” Thor questions curiously, his one eye lighting on the man.

 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve answers.

 

As he speaks, a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives rush in between you and Thor and his self-made, alarm-causing entrance. They set to work, fixing the door with tools and gadgets you do not recognize. You and Thor move out of their way, Thor uttering a jovial apology as he does so. One of the agents shoots him an unfavorable glance, and as the repair begins, the alarms finally shut off (although their red lights continue to flash).

 

“Are you here for Loki?” Fury asks, his authoritative tone ringing in the sudden silence.

 

Thor’s eyebrows go up, and instead of answering, he turns to you. “What of these people, my friend? Do you trust them?”

 

You immediately grow uncomfortable, as even though Thor had “attempted” to lower his voice, his question was most certainly overheard by all present. You clear your throat again and cut your eyes off to the left. “Yeah, whatever, they’re alright I guess.”

 

A genuine smile lights on Thor’s face, and he states, “Ah, I see. You must really like them to say as much, warrior!”

 

“Shut up,” you mutter hurriedly, a deep frown pulling at your lips.

 

Thor turns back to Fury and states, “Indeed, I search for my brother.”

 

“Your brother, Loki,” Stark confirms. “Thor and Loki, of Asgard, gods and Odin and magic and all that?”

 

“Who is this odd man?” Thor asks, amused. “He seems to very much enjoy stating obvious facts.”

 

You can see Tony’s eyes narrow as he draws himself up, prepared to defend himself. Out of the corner of your eye you notice Rogers trying not to smile.

 

“That’s Tony Stark,” you supply with a smirk. “He loves facts, especially obvious ones.” As an afterthought, you add, “So, these guys are like, eh, super heroes. Got powers and whatnot.”

 

“That’s beside the point,” Fury interjects.

 

“What powers do you possess?” Thor asks, directing his question to everyone in the room. “I am most curious. I must admit, upon first glance, I thought you lot regular mortals.”

 

“Well, some of us _are_ regular mortals,” Phil Coulson pipes up in a joking manner.

 

Fury shoots him a look, and then turns his gaze back to the god of thunder. “Thor, how did you find –”

 

“You seem familiar,” Thor muses, rubbing his jaw as he stares at Coulson. “Have we crossed paths before?”

 

“Yes!” Coulson exclaims. “Phil Coulson. I was there in New Mexico, when you had the, ah, incident with your eye.”

 

“Ah, I remember now,” Thor states, grimacing as he nods. “You’ll have to pardon me, that night was admittedly not one of my best.”

 

“That’s all well and good,” Fury cuts in. “But I’d appreciate an answer to my question. How’d you find us?”

 

“My mother thought it prudent to lead me to the warrior,” Thor replies, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Although, I had asked her to send me straight to Loki. She claimed I should not go on my own. She worries,” he adds warmly.

 

“She has a right to,” you tell him, all humor leaving your expression. “Thor, he’s not right. It’s… it’s bad.”

 

“Understatement of the year,” Stark comments dryly.

 

“Do you know where Loki is?” Fury asks Thor before anyone else can derail the conversation.

 

“I’ve no idea,” Thor informs him with a shrug. Now that he’s refocused on the purpose of his mission, he turns again to you. “Warrior, we should be off! Lead the way, and I will follow.”

 

“Lead the way?” you ask, your brow furrowing. “Thor, _I_ don’t know where Loki is any more than you do.”

 

The god of thunder looks at you with a wide, blue eye. “But in the past, the two of you have always been able to –”

 

“Yeah, well, count that shit out,” you state quickly. “I have no clue where he’s at. Swear.”

 

Thor pauses to think, and then shrugs nonchalantly. “No matter. The healer should be able to trace him, regardless.” He looks around the room, his smile warm. “Where is the tiny woman? I’d’ve imagined her to be by your side from the moment you set foot on Midgard!”

 

You can’t bring yourself to say it, even though you want to tell him. You worry your lip and cross your arms.

 

“Your, ah, brother took her out of commission,” Stark informs Thor before Fury can get a word out.

 

“What?” Thor asks in alarm. “Pardon?!”

 

“Unconscious. She’s _unconscious_ ,” Steve corrects heatedly, frowning at Tony.

 

“By the Nine,” Thor mutters, shaking his head.

 

You aren’t sure if it’s relief or shock you hear in his tone.

 

“We should get out of the hall,” Coulson suggests. “There are better places to hold this conversation.”

 

“I’ll second that,” Fury says with a nod.

 

\---

 

You feel uncomfortable in the hovercraft’s lab, especially knowing that Fury has a folder documenting your experience on Earth as a glorified lab rat. Everything is extremely high-tech, in a different way than Asgard’s technological and magical advances. The room is not necessarily large, and the sleek metal, huge glass windows, and bright lights give a clinical feel to the area.

 

Fury’s disappointed to find that Thor has virtually no helpful information on Loki. He’s not seen his brother in a year, after all, and only recently learned he was still living. And Thor is likewise appalled at the stories the team divulges to him, in regard to Loki’s more recent actions. Erik Selvig, Willow… Germany…. He looks to you for confirmation after each claim, and needs only your expression to ascertain their validity.

 

Thor blames the scepter.

 

You know better.

 

You learn a lot of things during this informal “meeting”. Thor is intent on explaining his position as a prince of the realm of Asgard, asking about Jane Foster (who you discover is under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s protection), and reliving the New Mexico debacle with Phil. And then, once this is settled, he wants to know about everyone else.

 

You’ve heard Steve’s story before, Willow having explained some of what the man has been through. Phil Coulson is much more talkative on Steve’s history than Steve himself, claiming the soldier is being modest about his accomplishments. Rogers looks more uncomfortable than thankful for the praise, although he puts on a nice face for the agent. Thor is certainly impressed with Coulson’s tales of Steve’s bravery, whether exaggerated or not.

 

Phil has less to say about his own history, although Thor seems quite pleased to add another mortal to his circle of acquaintances.

  
Stark is eager to talk about his intellect, his money, his advances in the modern world. He speaks proudly of his alter ego and his research into sustainable energy. Stark Tower, Stark Industries, Stark, Stark, Stark. But when Thor asks of his reasoning for becoming “the man of iron”, the smile on Tony’s face becomes less genuine, no longer filled with a sort of selfish, boyish excitement. It’s a smile that does not quite reach his eyes. This change draws your attention, your gaze catching his as you wait curiously for his answer. Whereas he spoke so grandiosely of his achievements, he explains his failures in a casual, “no-big-deal” sort of way. Which lets you know it’s a very big deal.

 

There’s regret hidden here. Guilt. Something hurting, something torn that lies just beneath the man’s massive ego.

 

But then Thor moves on to questioning the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and the moment is over.

 

“My name is Director Nick Fury,” Fury states. “And that’s all you need to know.”

 

This seems to put a damper on Thor’s attitude, the smile slowly fading from his face. The serious mood has returned, Fury asking a few more questions that lead to no new answers.

 

Eventually, conversation dies, leaving only the low hum of the machinery filling the room. Coulson heads out after a little voice buzzes from the communicator in his ear, and Fury stews in the back corner of the lab, lost in his thoughts and theories. Thor seems uncomfortable in the silence, and you can tell he’s close to blurting out a question or statement to Rogers.

 

Before this can happen, Stark cracks his knuckles, the little popping noises surprisingly loud. “Alright, seems we’ve learned all we can here.” He walks towards one of the control panels, searches for a moment, and then powers up the lab’s holographic screens. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

 

“Yes,” Thor says, relief bleeding into the word. “Let us locate my brother.”

 

As Tony gets acquainted with the Helicarrier’s computer system, he casts a look at you and Thor over his shoulder. “So, how’d the two of you meet, anyway?”

 

“Oh, my friend, that is a grand tale,” Thor says, the grin reappearing on his face.

 

And he launches into it, speaking ostentatiously of the first time he saw you, the battle with your enemies, your long period of unconsciousness….

 

“You see,” Thor adds, “we did not truly speak until she had awoken. A fearsome sight! Downright hostile, she was, rising from the sickbed, ordering both princes of Asgard to stay back with murderous intent. I thought I’d saved a helbeast!”

 

He claps you on the back and guffaws. You let out a huff, your eyes shooting up to the heavens.

 

“Hostile. I can see that,” Tony muses, and he smirks when you glare at him. He redirects his attention to Thor and asks, “So, what, the two of you a thing?”

 

“What?” Thor questions as you try to splutter out a response.

 

“Stark, that’s irrelevant,” Fury cuts in.

 

“Like, a thing,” Tony continues, ignoring Fury and rolling his eyes. “Like, _together_. A couple.”

 

“Oh, _stars_ no!” Thor exclaims, aghast. “Has she not told you? The woman is practically my sister! And whether the marriage happens or not, I count her as such.”

 

“What?” Stark questions at the same time Fury asks, “Excuse me?”

 

“Fuck,” you say under your breath.

 

You hadn’t even thought…. You’ve been too caught up in conversation to think about Thor and his honest transparency….

 

“Really, we should be focusing on finding Loki,” Rogers interjects.

 

You decide right then and there that you like (and maybe… maybe even _trust_ ) Steve Rogers.

 

“You haven’t made mention of your engagement?” the god of thunder questions, genuine confusion upon his face.

 

“Previous engagement, Thor,” you correct, your arms crossed and a blush creeping across your cheeks. “Gods, it’s been a whole fucking year, and I mean, we’ve told you what he’s done.”

  

“So, you’ve given up on him as well?” Thor asks, something akin to defeat in his tone.

 

“ _He_ gave up on _me_ ,” you counter heatedly, staring into Thor’s eye for a long moment.

 

“I feel like this isn’t going to help us accomplish our goal right now,” Steve says, glancing between you and Thor.

 

“No, Rogers, I’d say this is relevant,” Fury says. He turns to you, fixing you with a level look. “Quite a personal relationship you’ve neglected to mention.”

 

“It doesn’t change anything,” you state, your voice cold. “I want to stop him as much as you guys do. He put Will in a fucking coma. And I don’t care if it kills me, I’m going to make him fix it. Or pay for it. Whichever comes first.”

 

Thor says your name, and the distraught tone in which he speaks almost makes you flinch.

 

Fury’s eyeing you now, sizing you up. You meet his scrutiny with a level gaze, and you feel as if the two of you are holding a silent conversation.

 

_I mean it. I’m not his ally. If I was, I wouldn’t be fucking **here** , trust me._

“Stark, any luck on pinpointing Loki’s location?” Steve asks. “The sooner we deal with this, the better.”

 

Fury holds your eyes for a moment more, and then looks away. “I agree.”

 

“It’s loading. Give it a bit, damn,” Stark says, shaking his head.

 

The room falls silent again, and you can’t remember if you’ve ever felt more uncomfortable.

 

After a long period of silence, you realize Stark is staring at you. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, as if he is dying to say something. It comes out as an “mmmMMM” that grows increasingly louder until he blurts out, “MMMM the horse thing.”

 

You stare at him blankly. “What?”

 

“The horse thing,” he says again, louder, making a vague hand gesture. “According to Norse mythology, your boyfriend fucked a horse. Or, rather, was… fucked by a horse, although I really don’t think the technicality matters.”

 

Now Thor is also staring at Tony, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“The fuck?” you ask.

 

You know Loki has no true preference between men or women, but you’d never heard rumor of…. _What?_

 

“I actually _do_ think I’ve read about that,” Steve says, more to himself than to the room.

 

“Oh yeah, and there’s more,” Tony says, opening a new page on one of the computer’s monitors. “I’ll find the whole story.”

 

“Stark,” Fury warns.

 

“I don’t know how much stock you can put into mythologies, Tony,” Steve says.

 

“Oh, shit,” Tony responds, eyes widening as he stares at the computer screen.

 

“Seriously, now’s not the time,” Steve tells him.

 

“No, shut up,” Tony says, waving a hand towards Rogers. “I found him.”

 

“What?” Fury asks, and you and Thor share a decisive look as you both walk over behind Tony.

 

“Look at this,” Stark states, shaking his head. “That bastard. His smug face, plastered all over the internet. Look, there are posts from five minutes ago. Facebook, Twitter. This fucker.”

 

“Twitter?” Thor asks, looking over to you for answers.

 

You shrug, your brow furrowed as you try to make sense of the screen Tony’s scrolling through. The monitor is filled with images of Loki taken from a distance, strolling down the streets of some city with an entourage of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents shadowing him.

 

“It’s a challenge,” Fury says tightly. “He’s daring us to come after him.”

 

“Fuck the facial recognition,” Tony says, canceling the loading screen on the lab’s holograph. “We know where he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy last transition chapter before we get to that scene I KNOW all of you have been waiting for...  
> Which is Loki in the box lmao
> 
> Some news:  
> I've gone back and done some editing to OSE and ODE, as well as added the fanart you amazing people have drawn for me into the end notes of their respective chapters! (OSE: Chapter 6. ODE: Chapters 12, 20, and 33.)  
> And I've also got a [Discord](https://discord.gg/AbBAEY5) for my fics, if any of you are interested in joining me there! It can serve as a way to know when I update, if you don't have an AO3 account!
> 
> As always, thanks for being patient with me! It's been a while since I've had writer's block that bad, but I'm FINALLY FREE. :D  
> See you next chapter!


	12. The City of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight, bois, here's the dealio  
> I had so much going on these past few months! Buying a house, moving, getting settled, trying to sell our old house.... It sucks! I mean, the new house is sweet, but the moving and trying to sell our old house sucks!  
> BUT I'VE SAID IT BEFORE AND I'LL SAY IT AGAIN, NO THIS FIC IS NOT GOING TO BE ABANDONED!!! I mean, c'mon, we've made it to the third part of the series lol no way is this going to be abandoned.  
> Updates boutta be slow, but they will be there, I promise!  
> Speaking of updates, I apparently lied in my last author's note, because there was no way I was able to fit everything I wanted into this chapter, so the Loke in a Box scene will have to wait a bit longer!  
> PLEASE FORGIVE ME, I AM BUT HUMAN!  
> That being said, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

The farther Stark scrolls down the computer’s feed, the more complicated things get. As Rogers quickly points out, there’s a whole new problem. “Look at the pictures,” he states, gesturing towards the holographic screen. “They show different cities. London, Paris, Berlin, Tokyo, Egypt, Moscow.”

 

Tony frowns, brown eyes quickly scanning the feed as he refreshes the browser. The times indicate all of these pictures were posted roughly around the same time, but in vastly different locations. The captions range from curious bystanders asking who this strange man is to fearful people warning others away from him. Stark turns to you and points towards the stream of conflicting photos. “How… exactly… is he in multiple places at once?”

 

“Illusions,” you say, narrowing your eyes at the screen. The obviousness of it is troubling to you. _What are you doing, Loki?_

Stark shoots Thor a glance, eyebrow quirked as he waits for confirmation. Thor gives him a short nod before returning his attention to the photos.

 

“Right, of course,” Tony mutters under his breath, rubbing at his chin as he looks back to the screen. “Illusions. _Obviously_.”

 

Director Fury steps up to the console, Stark begrudgingly moving over to make room. Fury swiftly types in a few commands and begins the process of mapping out all of the geological locations of the photos. “We need to find the real Loki,” he states to the room. “Thoughts?”

 

You lean in a little closer, eyes locked on Loki’s face in each picture. He wears a broad, shit-eating grin, as if he’s having a blast strolling through the streets of Midgard. One picture in particular draws your eye, a side shot of Loki taken mid-stride. You shake your head. “Something’s not right. He’s setting a trap.”

 

“What’s new?” Rogers questions, weariness leaking into his voice. “We can deal with the trap after we figure out which one is the real Loki.”

 

“He has quite a large accompaniment in this image,” Thor says, pointing towards one of the pictures. It’s hard to see Loki through all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the amassed crowd of onlookers. “Perhaps this is him. And it’s in the heart of a town, very showy.”

 

“Good God, even his own brother’s just making guesses,” you hear Stark mutter.

 

“That one’s in New York,” Fury says, enlarging the picture. Everyone in the room stares at it, and you frown. That isn’t the photo that initially caught your eye, the one you can’t help but look at. The director glances around and then states, “It would take us a while to reach New York. I could dispatch some other agents until we get back over.”

 

“But he’s just _guessing_ ,” Stark interjects. “Do you have the kind of manpower it would take, to chase these illusions around?”

 

“It does feel like we’re playing into Loki’s hand,” Steve admits, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “He knew we’d find these. The fact that they’re there means he’s already put some sort of plan in motion. We’re a step behind.”

 

“We’re not just a step behind, Captain, we’re three steps behind,” Fury says.

 

“I say we go,” Thor says. He picks up his war helm, which had been resting on one of the lab’s counters, and slides it securely onto his head. “I tire of standing around when there is action to be taken. Warrior –”

 

“Hold up, Thor,” you tell him, eyes still fixed on the computer’s large screen. “I don’t think that’s him.”

 

“What?” Thor asks.

 

You point to a different photo, the one you’ve been staring at for a while now. The one that something in your mind is inevitably nudging you towards. You scrutinize the picture for another second and then nod your head. “This is where we should go.”

 

“Why that one?” Fury asks you.

 

You can’t say you just have an uncanny… _feeling_ about it (… Loki can’t be worming his way back into your head… can he?), so instead, you stick with facts. “Look, I’m not the most observant person,” you start, “but I’ve seen this fucking scepter way too many times. And say what you will about me, but I know my weapons.” You gesture towards the photos. “A lot of the other ones are wrong. I mean, come on guys, this one’s not even the right color blue for fuck’s sake,” you add, pointing to a different picture. “And see this here, the embellishment’s all wrong. This one’s silver, although I guess that could just be the light. But like, really, it’s like he’s not even trying.” You frown again, eyes flitting from photo to photo until you look back to the one you’re drawn to. “Where is this one at, anyway? Probably somewhere pretty famous, knowing him. There’s a big crowd and… whatever the hell that huge thing is.”

 

“The Eiffel Tower,” Steve Rogers tells you. “It’s a landmark. Yeah, I’d say it’s pretty famous.”

 

“And close to us,” Fury adds, checking the ship’s location on a different console. “… A little too convenient.”

 

“You think this is him?” Thor asks you, squinting at the photo. “But he has no entourage, warrior. Why would he travel without those he has… ah… collected?”

 

“It’s not like he needs a group of people to be dangerous,” you say with a pointed glance towards Thor.

 

“This is true,” Thor agrees, stroking his beard as he thinks. He then meets your gaze again and says, “A famous Midgardian landmark…. It does sound like him. Very well. Let us be off!”

 

Fury grimaces and then looks over at you. “How sure are you?”

 

“If it’s not him, I’ll be surprised,” you answer honestly. “But no matter what, I’d expect a fight. A trap, a trick. Something.”

 

“He is the god of trickery,” Thor says, nodding.

 

“Weird,” Tony supplies helpfully. You shoot him a look, and he shrugs. “Well, I’m tired of playing ‘Spot the Difference’. Let’s just get on with it.”

 

“Fine,” Fury says, rolling his shoulders as he steps back from the computer. “Everyone suit up. If he’s not there, we’ll relocate.”

 

“Oh, you coming with?” Stark asks, raising his eyebrows and smirking as he watches Fury start to walk out of the room.

 

“No, I’m not,” Fury answers bluntly without turning around. “I’m expecting someone.”

 

\---

 

You can’t deny that you’re happy to finally have a new outfit that fits you, however the accompanying accessory – an earpiece communication device – is rather uncomfortable. You’ve been supplied a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, although before you set out, the Director was sure to inform you that you were _not_ a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

 

You assured him you were well aware (and glad) of that fact.

 

And now, clad in all black, you stand before a very tall architectural structure. Steve Rogers has already said the tower is a big deal to humans, but you’re still slightly taken aback by the amount of people gathered around, posing in front of it with their friends, kissing their significant others.

 

You do not see the two ravens that circle high in the sky, wings skimming the clouds as they peer down at the scene below, watching over Odin’s sons.

 

The trees are perfectly trimmed, the grassy lawn around the landmark a lovely green. Your group lingers underneath one of said manicured trees, trying to locate exactly where the picture of Loki had been taken. It’s a cloudy day, threatening storms, although that has done nothing to lessen the peoples’ interest. Busses of various colors line the sides of the roads nearby, loading and unloading occupants. The group you’re with is garnering a fair amount of attention as well, despite the proximity to the famous tower; you’ve definitely seen a camera flash your way more than once.

 

And Loki is nowhere in sight.

 

“So, were you wrong, or…?” Stark asks, the faceplate of his Iron Man suit opening as he looks around with his hands on his hips.

 

“I wasn’t wrong,” you say, glowering at him.

 

“Perhaps Loki is nearby,” Thor suggests as he adjusts his eye patch. “We could venture further into the open. Upon seeing us, he may come forth.”

 

You can’t quit surveying your surroundings, eyes jumping from face to face. The crowd makes you nervous, and you feel as if you’re being watched. As if something is off.

 

“Let’s not be hasty,” Rogers speaks up, although it sounds as if he’d much rather get this ordeal over with sooner rather than later. “We need to –”

 

In the middle of his sentence there’s a loud _crack_ , the sudden noise echoing around the area. On instinct you jump back, your hand outstretched as you gather the energy to form a sword. Thor and Steve keep step with you, Thor pulling Mjolnir from his belt and Steve lifting his shield. The projectile whizzes past Rogers, striking the ground and sending up a small bit of dirt as it sinks into the grass.

 

If he didn’t have superhuman reflexes, you’re sure he’d be gravely wounded.

 

Stark’s helmet closes as his suit hovers above the ground, and not a second too soon. Another bang, and this time it’s a bullet pinging off his faceplate. Someone in the crowd screams something in a language you feel like you almost understand, and at once, everyone scatters.

 

From Loki’s vantage point, perched two hundred feet above the ground on the Eiffel Tower’s first level, he likens them again to ants. He sits, relaxed, his feet dangling over the tower’s edge. He holds the scepter in his lap, his hands gripping it tightly, contrary to his casual position. He bides his time, letting the blue glow of the gem fill his mind and body, bidding its power to flow through his fingers, up his arms, into his chest.

 

And, invisible, he watches.

 

“Where the hell did the shots come from?” you shout to your companions, muscles tensed and ready to dodge again.

 

But no one has time to answer. More shots fire, multiple this time. Something socks Thor in the jaw, something else sweeps Roger’s feet out from under him. You hear a rustle to your left and leap away. Pain blossoms in your arm, and when you jerk back your skin opens, blood from the wound seemingly floating in midair, outlining what you think is a knife.

 

“Invisible! He’s cloaking them!” you shout at the same time Stark’s voice over the com in your ear exclaims, “I count ten heat signatures!”

 

Fuck. You hate fighting things you can’t see.

 

“Stop the gunners!” Rogers yells to Tony as he gets to his feet and blocks another shot with his shield.

 

“Roger,” Stark’s voice answers as he jets closer towards the tower. “Or rather, Rogers. Heh.”

 

“Not the time!” Steve shouts back.

 

You focus on the bit of blood you can see, hovering above the grass in front of you, moving closer. When the person raises their weapon, you slip to the side, wildly grabbing at where you think the person’s arm is in relation to the blade. When your fingers grasp fabric you latch on, determined not to let go of your prey.

 

There’s a sharp pinch in your side – probably a small knife in their other hand – and you bare your teeth as you tighten your grip. You bring your knee up, slamming their arm down at the same time. A bone snaps, the person cries out, and the invisible illusion is banished.

 

You go in for the kill, sword rushing up, just about to sink into the man’s gut –

 

You hear your name.

 

“Wait!” Steve Rogers calls out. “They’re S.H.I.E.L.D. agents!” He bashes his shield forward, and a woman suddenly flickers into sight as she flies backwards. “Under Loki’s control!” Steve continues, finally meeting eyes with you. “They don’t need to die!”

 

“Oh, shit, yeah, sorry, sorry,” you say sincerely, dropping the man in your grip.  You relinquish your sword, dissolving it back into the shadows it was forged of. “I forgot.”

 

“I thought as much,” Thor says, looking over smugly at the two men he had knocked unconscious. “It truly only takes a single punch, warrior. These mortals are surprisingly fragile, if you recall.”

 

 _Because you **definitely** don’t enjoy smashing people’s faces in, _you think snidely.

 

“Rogers, on your left!” Stark’s voice crackles in everyone’s ears.

 

Steve turns abruptly with his shield, and the resulting sound is that of metal scraping against metal. You and Thor both move to assist, but you get there first. You miss a punch, but your kick connects, revealing the man. The knife flies out of the agent’s hand, and all of the air leaves his lungs when he hits the ground.

 

“That’s five,” Rogers says as you finish knocking your opponent unconscious.

 

“I’ve got four stunned over there,” Stark says as he flies back up to the group. “Don’t see the other one, though. Maybe they got outta’ dodge with Loki. Either way, Fury’s gonna’ have quite the cleanup.”

 

Two things occur at once.

 

Thor hears a quiet, “ _That he will,_ ” from behind him, followed by a flash of white-hot pain in his side, under his ribs, spreading, _burning_.

 

Tony finally touches down in front of the group, and you see a shimmer right behind him. A dagger, glowing with uncloakable magic or power, you aren’t sure which, an invisible hand rising to strike.

 

 _That’s death_ , you realize, in the same way that you were able to suss out Loki’s true location. You simply know that this weapon will sink straight through Tony’s armor and into his body; that its design, its purpose, is to kill.

 

“Loki!” Thor roars, whirling around frantically.

 

“Stark!” you shout, rushing forward, forming a blade of your own.

 

Tony’s not turning fast enough, you aren’t going to make it in time, but you _have_ to make it in time.

 

Thor’s movement jars the dagger from Loki’s grasp. Rogers comes to Thor’s aid at once, tossing his shield as hard as he can at the space the god is facing.

 

_Slam!_

 

You crash into Tony’s shoulder, your momentum enough to make him stagger out of the way as you bring your sword up in a sweeping arc.

 

Loki, now visible, recovers from the strike of Rogers’ shield and brings the scepter around towards Thor. Steve rushes in, catching his shield and landing a punch right across Loki’s cheekbone. The man doesn’t seem to be much impacted by the action, although it gives Thor a chance to grab him. Rogers strikes Loki’s wrist repeatedly with his shield, grasping him by the shoulder for leverage until the Asgardian releases the golden scepter.

 

You watch the glowing dagger drop to the ground, accompanied by the hand that had wielded it. There’s a high-pitched scream and a woman blinks into view, holding the bleeding stump of her wrist and staring at the space where her hand used to be. Her eyes roll up, and she joins her extremity on the ground, passed out cold.

 

“Brother!” Thor growls heatedly, a hint of a wheeze to his words as he secures one of Loki’s arms behind his back. “Yield at once!”

 

“I missed you, too,” Loki states with a smirk.

 

Rogers exchanges a look with Thor from Loki’s other side. The god of thunder appears troubled, his handsome brow creased. The captain and Thor both grasp Loki’s shoulders, although to Thor, this does not seem secure enough. After a moment’s pause and some deep thought, he slides Mjolnir’s leather strap around one of Loki’s wrists, twists the loop until it draws tight to his skin, and then lets the hammer fall to the ground.

 

The chaos ceases.

 

“Jesus,” Stark says, picking up the glowing dagger.

 

“Are you alright?” you ask him, your brow furrowed with concern.

 

His faceplate lifts, revealing a conflicted expression. He stares at you, his eyebrows knitted together, as if he can’t quite figure out what he wants to say.

 

And from the side, witness to this exchange, Loki’s eyes narrow.

 

But you aren’t looking at him. You aren’t looking at anyone anymore. You suddenly can’t focus, lost in your mind, a connection renewing with such force it almost physically makes you jump.

 

Tony turns away, thinking you to be fixated on what’s going on behind him. His eyebrows rise at the sight of Loki tethered to the ground by one wrist. “What? Caught him without my help? Now, that’s something.”

 

As you shake off your daze, you ignore everyone around you – Stark, Thor, _Loki_ – and stare straight into the eyes of Steve Rogers.

 

You’re positive he feels it, too.

 

“She’s awake,” you say, doing your best to keep your voice level. “Are you coming?”

 

“What?” you hear Thor question.

 

Emotions dance across the blond god’s face, complicated and conflicted – he will have words with his brother. Many words. Be it in front of others or not.

 

Steve keeps your gaze, but then his eyes flick to Loki, whose back is bent from the weight of Mjolnir.

 

You refuse to let your eyes wander – you refuse to look at _him_. You continue to watch Steve, who seems torn between his heart and his duty.

 

“We’ve got Reindeer Games, Rogers,” Tony says, walking to the soldier’s side. He pats Steve’s shoulder as he looks down at Loki. “It’ll be a fun jet ride back to the base, right Rudolph?”

 

There is no reply.

 

You _feel_ his eyes on you.

 

 _Don’t_ , you think to yourself. _Don’t look at him._

 

You hold up a hand, tearing a dark rift in the space around you.

 

Steve Rogers steps forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tfw you see your ex in public and it’s super awkward...  
> Haha jk  
> ..  
> Kinda


	13. Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BruuuuuUUUUHHHH. This chapter is fourteen. pages. long.  
> Thanks to ShootingStarSojourner for being an awesome beta reader, thanks to Temerey for helping me with some translation stuff in this chapter, and thanks to all of you for sticking with me thus far!  
> I've literally got the whole rest of OTE mapped out in chapters now, this is gonna be a crazy ride

Your right hand is clasped around Steve Rogers’ wrist, your fingers too tight for comfort. He hasn’t acknowledged your vice-like grip, which you’re thankful for. The dark void surrounding you… it had reacted to him when you both stepped through your self-made portal. It’s much like when Willow travels with you through your shadows. You still feel it, as if the blackness beneath your feet wishes to swallow him. You refuse to lose him to the Dark, not when he means so much to Will. And yeah, maybe Blondie means something to you now, too.

 

Willow. You focus on tugging Steve forward, following the pull you feel coming from your friend’s mind. Up and up, climbing ever higher in a space that Earth’s gravity has no hold over.

 

You’ve finally found the room, the lab, and you can see her, and there are others present, but they don’t matter. You reach out your free hand, fingers digging into the black edges of reality.

 

And you pull.

 

Willow cries out at once, calling for you and her captain. Her clothing is rumpled and torn from the gala, and dark circles lie beneath her eyes despite her long rest. Your friend pushes off of the wall she leans upon and staggers forward, trying to reach the two of you.

 

“Will!” you exclaim in alarm, rushing forward just in time to catch her before she goes down.

 

You kneel to hug her, knowing she doesn’t have the strength to stand back up. Willow says your name, as if making sure you’re truly there. “Friend.” Her arms tighten around you, her shoulders shaking. It’s been so long since she’s seen you – too long. “I’m so sorry,” Willow whispers.

 

And in your mind’s eye, you see everything she’s referring to. Everything you’ve been through in the last year. All of the things you’ve boxed away.

 

Your face is pressed against her shoulder, your throat tightening, tears pricking at your eyes as you try so hard to smile through it. Because it’s almost funny. You want to take Will by the shoulders, laugh it all off, tell her that it’s just _silly_ that after what she’s been through, she’s telling you _she’s_ sorry. It’s ridiculous that she’s still making other people her priority.

 

You should be the one apologizing to her.

 

You hurriedly shut down your hysteric sobs, push back the grief that sits shallowly underneath. You release your friend, wiping at your face as you let out a strangled laugh. “Why are you making me cry, dammit?” you ask. “This isn’t a good look for me.”

 

Willow laughs with you, brushing her tears away and sniffing. “Still could be worse,” she tells you, her tone light.

 

She grasps your forearms firmly, as if grounding herself. It helps ground you, too. “It’s about time you woke up,” you tease, although the statement is quite serious.

 

Willow grimaces, her head dipping in a nod. “Took me a bit. Kinda got lost in transit.” She gives you a tight smile and then glances over your shoulder. “I’ll explain later,” she adds quietly.

 

You mirror her nod, knowing there’s a lot to talk about. And someone else is waiting anxiously to speak with her. You glance behind you at the worried Rogers, whose blue eyes are locked on your friend. He’s kept a respectful distance from your reunion, and with Willow awake and well, it’s a little easier to admit that you’re more than thankful to him.

 

“Hey, Star,” Steve says quietly as he takes your place in front of Will.

 

You step back, letting them have their own reunion. The adrenaline is slowly bleeding out of you, making you tired, reminding you of the wounds in your side and arm. For the first time, you take in the people in the room with you.

 

The fiery Natasha has returned, her eyes finding yours almost at once. There’s less hostility in her gaze than the last time you met, although she still seems guarded. If she’s heard about your history with Loki, you have a feeling she won’t be pleased with the half-truths you provided her in your previous conversation. But perhaps her softer look stems from understanding, after seeing you express something other than cold apathy.

 

You don’t know the man standing near her, looking on at the captain and Will as he subconsciously wrings his hands. You note his wavy, dark hair, his brown eyes. His mannerisms practically scream that he’s uncomfortable.

 

There’s movement in your peripherals, and you feel yourself tense as the door to the room opens. Nick Fury striding in does little to alleviate the stiffness in your shoulders.

 

“I’m so sorry!” you hear your friend exclaim to Rogers, tears flooding down her face yet again. “I’m so… sorry… for-for _attacking_ you… and _hurting_ you!” Will’s hands visibly tremble as she weeps. You fold your arms across your chest and turn your head, almost as uncomfortable as the man across the room. “I-I didn’t want to!” Will says miserably, lip trembling as she presses her face against Steve’s broad chest. “I’m so, so sorry, love!”

 

“How can we know that for sure?” Fury speaks up, a deep frown on his lips.

 

Rogers noticeably tenses. “We’re not doing this right now, Nick,” he states in a deadly tone.

 

 _Bless you, Steve Rogers_ , you think to yourself, turning to face Fury with an accusatory glare. The captain helps Willow to her feet, and she clings to him to stay upright.

 

“And why not?” Fury asks, a brow arching upwards as his eye flickers between you, Rogers, and Will. He crosses his arms, amplifying his already intimidating presence. “This seems like a perfectly good time for it.”

 

You open your mouth to spit out a nasty retort, but the dark haired man speaks first. “I don’t really think this needs to be an _interrogation_ ,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks from Willow to Fury. “She can barely stand.”

 

At once, with fluid movements, Natasha hooks her boot around one of the small, rolling stools tucked under the nearest laboratory counter and kicks it towards Steve. He shoots her a thankful glance as he stops the stool’s momentum and makes sure Will sits down.

 

Willow doesn’t seem to want to take a seat, but her shaking legs disagree with her.

 

Fury’s face may as well be carved out of stone.

 

“Let’s just talk,” the anxious man suggests. He looks over at you and Steve, one of his hands lifting in a small wave. “I’m Bruce Banner, by the way.”

 

“Dr. Banner,” Steve says with a nod.

 

You give him your name, also nodding your head.

 

This seems to satisfy Bruce, whose hands fall to his sides. He meets the tired eyes of your friend and says, “Why don’t you just tell us what you’ve been through? If it’s not too much…?”

 

Natasha nods in agreement, crossing her arms as she leans against one of the lab’s counters. “If you need a break, that’s alright. We’re here to listen, however long it takes.”

 

Willow takes a few deep breaths, her fingers tightening around Steve’s hand.

 

And then she begins to talk.

 

The more the story unfolds, the more uncomfortable you become. You can’t help but fiddle with the bracelet Sig gave to you, more than a year ago now. The intertwined silver knots are firm around your wrist, not as shiny as they once were, but still intact, which is more than you can say for a lot of things in your life. You remember how Loki had scoffed at the little gift. You remember how Bjorn had asked you about the bauble, sincerely curious. The memory makes you wince.

 

You miss him.

 

Every sentence from Will sends agony stabbing through your chest, every mention of Loki’s name. _Your fault, your fault, your fault,_ your mind chants at you.

 

Sensing your silent turmoil, Willow shoots you a glance in the middle of her story, her words tapering off into silence.

 

Her eyes ask you if you’re alright.

 

Your fists clench and unclench as you meet your friend’s gaze. You give the smallest of nods.

 

At the end of her explanation, everyone is quiet. All present know that Fury will be the first one to speak.

 

You can’t read the Director’s expression. Is he uncomfortable? Dissatisfied? Appeased? He continues to stand in the doorway, his arms crossed, same frown still etched across his face.

 

Finally he sighs, sounding truly exhausted. “Do you know how complicated all of this is?” he asks, attempting to sound more irritated than tired. He points towards Willow. “I’m ordering a psychological evaluation for you.”

 

“What?” Willow asks incredulously.

 

“We’re dealing with a lot here,” Fury continues, “and we can’t risk having you compromised.” Steve and you both move to rebuff him, but Fury holds up his hand. “Protocol. This is the best outcome of the scenario. Trust me.”

 

Something in his tone stops you from continuing with your outburst. Again, it’s just the fact that you know he’s _right_. Something you don’t like admitting, especially when it’s regarding someone you care about.

 

The Director holds a finger to his ear, listening to a voice crackling over his com.

 

Fury meets your eyes. “I have confirmation that the others have delivered our target,” he says gruffly. “I guess you were right. The other locations were clean.”

 

The other… locations. It takes a second to process exactly what he’s saying. “It… was a test,” you state slowly. “You thought I was lying.”

 

Fury raises an eyebrow, a dry chuckle underlying his tone. “You thought I wouldn’t have agents investigating the other cities?” And now he does laugh, the sound very abrupt. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

 

“Neither was I,” you say coldly, although as the words leave your lips you realize you have no true point to make.

 

He acknowledges this with a grim smile.

 

“So, what now?” Natasha asks, eyes traveling carefully over each person’s face.

 

“We find the cube,” Banner says, glancing towards the holographic computer screen hovering over the nearest lab counter. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have dragged me into this.”

 

“If it’s not with Loki,” Fury amends, his cynical tone holding what you think might be a true hint of hope.

 

“I don’t think it is,” Steve states, drawing the attention of all present.

 

“I agree,” you say, backing him up. “I feel like I would’ve sensed something that powerful. Plus, if he had it at his disposal, he would’ve used it.”

 

“He doesn’t have it on him,” Willow spoke up, slender fingers rubbing at her temple. “I think… it’s somewhere else. Someone was working on it.”

 

“Working on it?” Fury questions, turning towards her. “What about it?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Will says, her expression pained as she presses her hand to the side of her head. “But someone else is in charge of it. He was a nice guy. Really smart.”

 

“Any idea of his name?” Romanoff asks, and she lets out a soft sigh when Willow shakes her head.

 

“Does one Doctor Erik Selvig ring any bells?” Fury asks.

 

Will winces, but then her eyes go wide. “Yes, I… I think so. He’s the one… He’s… working on the tesseract.”

 

“Thought as much,” Fury mumbles, gloved hand rubbing his chin as his mind races.

 

“Don’t push yourself, Star,” Rogers tells your friend, clearly noticing her pained expression. “We’re just glad to have you back with us.”

 

“You got that… right….” you say, your words trailing off as you stare out the lab’s large front windows.

 

All eyes follow yours, a tense chill settling over the room as the object of all of this mayhem comes into view. Swarms of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents surround Loki, and even though his hands are secured in high-tech cuffs, his blue gaze lights up when he peers into the room. The god stares at Banner as though the man is a gift, a cheeky smile tilting his lips. He looks to Willow, to Fury, to you.

 

There’s an uncomfortable _jolt_ in your stomach, like you missed a step on an invisible staircase and now you’re tumbling through thin air without any way of catching yourself.

 

 _Oh_ **_darling_** , his voice hisses through your mind, snaking through your defenses, _come and talk with me. I will wait._

 

\---

 

Everyone watches as Fury speaks with Loki, interrogates him, describes the glass holding cell and how it’ll send the god hurtling down thirty thousand feet if he tries anything. Everyone watches except for you, Thor, and Willow. You three listen.

 

Thor stands with his back to the room, his arms crossed, his breath still holding a hint of a wheeze from where Loki’s dagger had slipped into his side. He tries to hide just how torn he is, but you can see the pain written plainly across his face. It’s different, him hearing the stories versus seeing the truth for himself.

 

Willow sits at the conference table, eyes tracing the grains in the wood. Steve shadows her, hand on the back of her chair as he stares at the monitors. Natasha and Banner sit beside Will, eyes focused on the screens as well. Bruce grimaces every time Loki makes insinuations regarding… him. Stark paces on the left side of the room, eyes going to the footage when his steps bring him towards the front.

 

And you stand near the back wall, arms crossed, teeth worrying your lip as you listen to the God of Mischief.

 

To no one’s surprise, Fury’s questions garner nothing new. Silence falls as the director walks away, presumably to reconvene at the room you’re all currently gathered in. Banner rolls his stiff shoulders and lets out a breath, forcing himself to look away from the smirking face of Loki, who stares up at the camera as though he can see straight through it. “He really grows on you, doesn’t he?” Bruce quips lightly.

 

“Loki’s going to drag this out,” Steve states, shaking his head. “So… what’s his play?”

 

 _All of this,_ you think to yourself. _All of it’s his ‘play’. Just a stupid fucking game._

Thor glances around the room, his mouth pressed into a frown. “Loki speaks of waging war against Midgard. For that, he’d need an army.”

 

“Well, apparently he’s working on that one,” Tony speaks up, gesturing towards Will. “Taking over people’s minds. You guys said he’s basically been collecting people since he got here.”

 

“He doesn’t have enough agents under his control for an army,” Natasha says, brows coming together as she thinks.

 

“No,” Will mutters, rubbing her face as she shakes her head.

 

“I was thinking of a different army,” Thor says to Romanoff. “My father has been receiving reports from Heimdall of strange activity among the Kree, the Chitauri, the Jotnar –”

 

“Chitauri!” Willow exclaims suddenly, a look of utter confusion on her face at her own outburst. Her cheeks flush slightly as everyone in the room turns towards her. “I-I recognize that word.”

 

“What’s a Chitauri?” Stark asks.

 

“An army,” Thor states grimly. “Aliens, not of Asgard or any known world.”

 

“Then…” Bruce says slowly, “operating under the assumption that he’s using an alien army, Ch-uh-Chitauri or not, then…. Well, that would explain why he needs the tesseract…. Erik Selvig…. Yeah.” Banner looks up at the room, meeting everyone’s expectant gazes. “So, he’s building another portal. That’s what he needs Erik Selvig for.”

 

“That’s a grim explanation,” Natasha notes in the following silence. “So then why the op at the gala, and the iridium?”

 

“And Loki seems perfectly content to be on the ship,” Rogers adds, nodding his head towards the monitors at the front of the room. “He’s not leading an army from here.”

 

“I don’t think we should be focusing on Loki,” Banner says, clearly distracted with a different train of thought. “That guy’s mind is a bag full of cats. You can smell the crazy on him.”

 

“You would do well to watch your tongue,” Thor growls defensively. “He has changed, yes, but he is still of Asgard, and still my brother.”

 

“Well, since your brother’s arrived he’s killed over eighty people, and counting,” Natasha informs him.

 

Thor’s frown deepens, and he looks to you in hopes you’ll take his side.

 

Tony snorts at Romanoff’s comment, unable to hide his amusement. “Iridium’s a stabilizing agent,” he tells Banner. “Means the portal won’t collapse on itself, like it apparently did the first time. Also means it can open as wide and as long as Loki wants it to. Ha.” He raises an eyebrow, unable to let the so-so innuendo pass without comment.

 

“I fail to see the humor in this situation,” Thor tells him.

 

“Regardless,” Tony continues, “it seems like the other raw materials will be easy for his S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to get a hold of. Only major component missing is a power source. Something with a high energy density, something to kick start the cube.”

 

“Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?” Steve asks, his hand resting protectively on Willow’s shoulder.

 

“He’s got to heat the cube to a hundred and twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier,” Banner muses.

 

“Unless Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect,” Stark counters.

 

You watch in amazement as Tony and Banner fire ideas back and forth, spouting words you’ve never heard of.

 

“Thank God, finally! Someone who speaks English,” Tony states happily. “It’s great to meet you, Dr. Banner. Your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. And I’m also a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster,” he adds.

 

“What?” you ask abruptly.

 

“Move past it, that’s not the point,” Stark replies, happily echoing your words back to you from the first time you met him. He turns back to Banner. “Shall we play, doctor? There’s a whole magical scepter to inspect in the lab, and I can hear it calling our names.”

 

“Let’s play,” Bruce agrees, a hint of a smile on his face.

 

\---

_They want you to speak with me, don’t they? Why wait?_

\---

 

You sit alone with Willow, back in the room where she had once slumbered. She speaks of what she had experienced while in her coma, of a gray, hazy world, endless walking, and then… a visit.

 

“Frigga?” you ask, absolutely floored. “Frigga talked to you?”

 

“She did,” Willow says, her expression carefully composed. “She found me. She… well, she wanted my help with Loki. She asked me to save him.”

 

You aren’t sure how to react to that. You let out a little laugh, if only to break the silence. “Wow. This whole thing, this whole, _crazy_ thing…. I can’t wrap my mind around it.”

 

Willow laughs as well. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

 

“You mean what have _I_ gotten you into,” you correct quietly.

 

You can’t meet her gaze anymore. Willow takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. “You stop that right now, okay? You didn’t do this.”

 

“Yeah, but –” you begin to counter, but she cuts you off.

 

“No, _listen_ to me, please,” she tells you earnestly. Will waits until you look up at her and then continues. “I don’t blame you. Nobody blames you but _you_. If anything, it was a bunch of unpredictable circumstances that led to all of this. And we’ll make it through together, like we always do. Right?”

 

You copy her smile, putting as much of your heart in it as you have left. “Right.”

 

\---

 

_Where are you?_

\---

 

Tony and Bruce pour over the scepter every moment they’re able, taking readings and suggesting theories, and yet nothing conclusive can come of any of it. Hours of speculating with nothing but data that will take weeks to process and dead ends.

 

And suspicions.

 

Stark has grown very suspicious. He’s looked over the information Fury chose to give to him, and he can’t help but wonder what’s between the lines. Why did S.H.I.E.L.D. have the cube in the first place? Why did they have Selvig working on it, and for what purpose? No, Fury had definitely handpicked the information to be provided to everyone, and he had picked from a much larger picture.

 

And damn, Stark doesn’t think he likes doing this puzzle without looking at the box first.

 

\---

 

_Ah, the anticipation is killing me, darling._

 

\---

 

You like Banner. He’s easy to get along with, and his practiced calm helps ease the tension that always seems to slink around the Helicarrier.

 

“It’s like Tony said,” he confesses to you, focusing very intently on the data sheet he’s looked over twice now. “When I get angry I… turn into a monster. A literal monster, mind you.”

 

“Huh,” you reply, pursing your lips as he tells his story. Once he’s finished, you take a moment to digest the information. Finally, you say, “The Hulk? That’s an… interesting name.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” Stark pipes up from across the room.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” you question, rolling your eyes.

 

“Oh, you haven’t seen?” he asks, pushing the stool he sits on away from the table with the scepter – _the scepter_ , your mind stutters – and over towards the monitors. “You made the news! You don’t choose your name, sweetheart, the public does.”

 

You scowl at him, but before you can say anything he pulls up several different articles on the screen. “Der Schatten!” Tony exclaims grandiosely, pointing to the headline above a grainy picture of you. It’s from Germany, when you were losing it in the courtyard with darkness spreading up your arms. “The Shadow. _So_ edgy. And this one, ‘Meister der Schatten’, I’m sure you can guess what that means. Oh, wait, this one’s my favorite: they just called you ‘Dark Spark’.” He practically cackles. “ _Quite_ inventive, that one.”

 

“ _What_?” you exclaim, your jaw falling open in disbelief.

 

Banner snickers. “I do feel a bit better now, yeah.”

 

You roll your eyes again, and while Tony continues picking at you, you stare at the picture of yourself in Stuttgart. After a bit you look up at Bruce and say, “You know, when I get too unstable… my power tears through reality and sends things into the void.”

 

Banner raises an eyebrow.

 

Tony looks from you to the picture of you in the courtyard. “Well, that certainly changes the tone,” he states.

 

The door opens and Steve Rogers steps through. He looks tired, as if he’s in need of some good news. “Seems like a party in here.”

 

“Science party,” you tell him.

 

“We’re studying a little R&R,” Stark says, rolling his stool forward so his torso leans back against the counter and he has room to kick his legs out. “So that no one turns green or tears a hole in the dimension or something.”

 

“Right,” Steve says slowly. “Well, is there anything new to report?”

 

“Not to you,” Tony says with a shrug. “I was under the impression we all report to Fury.”

 

“ _I_ was under the impression that we’re all working as a team here,” Rogers counters.

 

“You really believe that?” Stark asks with a scoff. “Fury can call it a team all he wants, but I’d take that with a grain of salt. S’matter of fact, I’d take everything he says with a grain of salt. No, smaller than that. A half-a-grain of salt.”

 

“You think Fury’s hiding something?” Rogers asks, blond brows crinkling at the thought.

 

“He’s a spy,” Tony says matter-of-factly. “Captain, he’s _the_ spy. His secrets have secrets. I mean, come on. I can’t be the only one questioning this whole operation. It’s bugging him, too, at least,” he says, jabbing a finger at Banner.

 

And judging from Steve’s face, the bug is infectious.

 

\---

_You must be bored here. I know I am._

 

\---

 

Willow refuses to enter the lab, not with the scepter sitting in the middle of it. You’re the opposite. You find yourself absentmindedly staring at it when you’re in the room, thinking about it later. You confess to Will that you dream of it, of the dangerous blue, of Loki. And that leads you to tell her of your dreams about _him_ – the one with the haunting laugh. And of Loki now being the owner of it.

 

“What’s wrong with me?” you ask her in horror, dark circles prominent under your eyes as you describe your twisted visions.

 

“Nothing,” she says to you firmly, rubbing at her own tired eyes. “Nothing is wrong with you.”

 

“I thought I’d put all of that behind me,” you tell her. “I haven’t dreamed about _him_ in forever. Not until recently.”

 

“Are you… are you feeling helpless?” she asks you, and as soon as she says it, you understand.

 

“I… I guess so,” you tell her softly. “I guess I am.”

 

\---

 

_How much longer will you let it eat you, I wonder?_

\---

 

You hear your name called as you walk towards your room, the word echoing up the metal hallway. You turn to find Stark, and you wait as he catches up to you, your curiosity piqued. “What –” you start to ask, but he holds up his hand.

 

“Nope, just let me get this out, alright?” When you comply with his request, he carefully meets your eyes. After a few beats, he says, “Thanks. For Paris. It’s nice knowing… well it’s nice knowing that when it comes down to it… you’ve got my back. Literally, I was going to be stabbed in the back, so, yeah.”

 

You huff out a laugh, giving him a grin despite yourself. “You’re welcome.”

 

“What, no snarky remark?” Tony asks, opening his mouth in faux surprise.

 

“You made an effort to be sincere,” you tell him with a laugh and an eyeroll. “I’m not gonna ruin that.”

 

“A sincere statement for a sincere statement?” Stark asks, eyebrow raised. “Huh. Guess Romanoff was right.”

 

“About what?” you question suspiciously.

 

“You’re nicer now that your friend’s awake.”

 

\---

_Surely you have questions. And I won’t be here long, darling._

\---

 

You walk with Thor and Phil Coulson, the latter insisting the two of you eat something whether you think you need to or not. Stark’s made passing comments on everyone’s lack of appetites, but Phil is the only one who’s persistently tried to ensure everyone gets some sustenance. As you pass near the lab, you hear a loud exclamation before you even round the corner. You usher your companions forward, promising you’ll meet them for lunch, and then divert your path towards the source of the argument.

 

Willow wavers beside the lab’s doorway, listening. Her back is against the wall, her whole body taught like a bowstring. You give her a look and stand beside her, pressing your shoulder against hers in a show of comfort.

 

“… In a few hours, we’ll know every dirty secret S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever tried to hide,” you hear Tony say. There’s a rustling sound, and then he adds, “Blueberry?”

 

“And you couldn’t figure out why they didn’t want you around?” Rogers says, his voice tight.

 

You raise your brows and look over at Will, who glances at you briefly and then returns her gaze to the wall across from you.

 

“An intelligence organization that fears intelligence? That’s just asking for trouble,” Stark states, the sentence muffled by what you guess is the result of him popping a blueberry into his mouth.

 

“Loki’s trying to wind us up,” Steve warns. “This is a man who means to start a war, and if we don’t stay focused, he’ll succeed. We’ve got our orders, and we should follow them. _All_ of us.”

 

“Following’s not really my style,” Stark states.

 

“And you’re all about _style_ , aren’t you?” Steve asks coldly.

 

“Of the people in this room, who is A: dressed like an action figure, and B: being super unhelpful?”

 

There’s a heartbeat of silence.

 

“Just find the cube,” Steve states shortly.

 

\---

 

_Come and chat._

 

\---

 

Fury watches Natasha talk with Loki, his quick mind picking apart the trickster’s words, his mannerisms, how he responds to the things the agent says to him.

 

He does not know that elsewhere, Tony Stark is reading through some very confidential files.

 

He does not know that elsewhere, Steve Rogers has breached some very confidential areas of the Helicarrier and has found some very confidential weapons.

 

And as Natasha turns away with some interesting information, and Fury issues the order to meet up in the Helicarrier’s lab, he most certainly does not know that you step out of the shadows to face Loki in his glass prison.


	14. Caged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo waddup it's meeee  
> I'm traveling over the next few days, so I'll be answering comments on the last chapter slowly, but I'll answer them, I promise :)  
> Anyway, if you're still here, thanks for sticking with me  
> <3

Loki’s still a shadow of his former self, more so than when you last saw him, if such a thing is possible. His pale face reminds you of a skull, his already sharp features even more pronounced by the deep hollows in his cheeks. But although you compare him to the dead, his fearsome gaze proves he is still very much alive. Too blue. Calculative.

 

… Pleased.

 

It’s painful to see him, your breath catching in your throat for a second as you meet his gaze. But it’s just a second. _I hate him_ , you tell yourself, narrowing your eyes at the man in front of you. _I do. Nothing he says can change that. And I’m sure he’ll have plenty to say._

 

But he doesn’t speak for a long moment, his stranger’s eyes flitting across your face, your body. The black S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform you continue to wear. It’s a stark contrast to your first reunion – there’s no trace of the furious anger he struggled with when you found him in the apartment. In its place is something akin to satisfaction, his dark smirk assured; a feral predator in a cage it knows cannot hold it.

 

No, it is different. You haven’t surprised him, not this time. He asked you to come, after all.

 

“Oh, darling,” Loki says, each syllable rolling off his tongue like silk, “have you come to release me?”

 

Your heart dips, and that further fuels your anger. You survey him with a scowl. “You _want_ me to dump you into the air?”

 

Loki laughs, unaffected by your threat. He spreads his hands from his sides, a habitual gesture. “There’s no need to be so hostile, murderess.”

 

“I could literally choke you right now,” you retort viciously, your fingers twitching, reacting to the barely contained rage coiled in your stomach.

 

“Oh, we both know I’d enjoy that far too much,” he says with a twisted smile.

 

Memories of a particularly lascivious night between the two of you suddenly parade before your eyes, and you realize it’s him toying with your mind, exploiting your weakness. It makes you feel naked, exposed as you stand before him.

 

“Stop it,” you hiss at once, attempting to repair your mental wall, to patch whatever crack has allowed him to regain purchase inside your head.

 

“You haven’t been practicing,” he admonishes tauntingly. “It’s child’s play to slip into your mind, warrior.”

 

But he acquiesces, allowing you to forcefully shut him out, and he smiles at the enraged look on your face.

 

“What do you want?” you ask in the following silence. “You bother me, and then I show up just so you can bother me some more? Not interested.”

 

“If you were uninterested, you wouldn’t be here,” Loki says. His strange eyes are still trained on you, although the mischievous glint within them is rather familiar. “But regardless, I’ve already requested that you release me.”

 

“Don’t play games with me,” you state. “You know I won’t do that. And _I_ know you want to be here. That this is some part of your plan.”

 

He doesn't respond, although the edges of his lips curl upwards in a wicked smile. Your breath catches once more as a jolt of recognition hits you. You used to love that smile.

 

 _Shut the **fuck** up_ , you tell yourself.

 

You sneer at him as you say, “And you were so dramatic about it, like good God. Although, yeah, it’s not your style to just show up with your wrists out. Which I guess explains Paris.”

 

“Why not take out a few as I went?” Loki replies grandiosely. “Kill one, overtake another. I hadn’t truly expected to succeed, so the outcome was no surprise. Although it was fun to watch the show.” He pauses for a heartbeat, a darker expression clouding his face. “It would’ve been ideal to have Thor under my control, I can’t deny that. How satisfyingly ironic, to have him kneel to _me_ , alongside the masses of humans that he so favors.” He lets out a short, savage laugh.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be the Trickster God, or whatever?” you ask as your eyes shoot to the ceiling. “What’s with all this destroying people, enslaving humanity bullshit? Or did you become the Idiot God of Death, Doom, and Fuckery without me knowing?”

 

Loki chuckles, the sound somehow very disconcerting. “The God of Death, you say? I believe you’ve mistaken me for my sister.”

 

You make a face at him, thinking that surely you’ve heard him wrong. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

 

He laughs again, as if he’s privy to a joke you don’t understand. “Oh, I’ve learned a lot about my adopted family over the past year. That I’m not the only _liar_ , not by far.”

 

The word hisses through his teeth, true rage flashing across his face. _Liar_.

 

“ _You’re_ the only liar I’m concerned with right now,” you say at last, jabbing a finger towards him as you shove the rest of what he’s said to the back of your mind ( _sister?!_ ).

 

Loki holds a hand up to his chest, feigning pain. “Oh, how you wound me.”

 

You don’t have to stand here and take this. You know you don’t, and yet… you haven’t left.

 

“Get to the point,” you growl, flexing your fingers, trying to convince yourself to slip away into the shadows. “Or did you really call me here for no damn reason?”

 

“I had thought you’d seek me out yourself,” he says genuinely, his analytical gaze considering you. “That you’d want to ask things of me. Perhaps yell? Demand explanations? Swear at me? You have always loved to swear at me.”

 

You find yourself a bit surprised by his words. You had indeed wanted to do all of those things, especially after Germany. And yet now that he’s in front of you – _trapped_ in front of you, no less – you feel as if… as if you’ve already shouted, already gotten whatever answers you could from him.

 

You hesitate in the increasingly long moment of silence. “Why, then?” you finally ask, wondering when the feeling of déjà vu will subside. “Why Willow, Loki?”

 

You can feel yourself getting choked up, thinking on it all once more. Only you can’t seem to conjure up the same feelings of hate you once held, a cold defeat settling in your heart in its stead.

 

The lost prince also seems to hesitate. “Strategically, the healer could have played a paramount part in my victory,” Loki tells you. Something seems to flicker in his gaze as he notices the pained expression on your face. Faintly, he adds, “Logically speaking, it was a sound decision.”

 

And these phrases sound… familiar.

 

A half-remembered dream floats through your mind, things slowly becoming clearer. But it won’t help you right now. You can’t afford any vulnerability, any cracks in your shield. Your emotions are already volatile and confusing as it is.

 

Loki frowns, although you aren’t sure why. Is it your lack of response? The fact that his voice has noticeably softened? Or perhaps he’s feeling a bit of the déjà vu as well? He glares at you, as if this irritation is your fault. “Why don’t we discuss other, more _important_ topics, hm?”

 

You can’t deny that the proposition seems appealing – you don’t want to dwell on your moment of weakness, on the memories of being wrapped in the prince’s arms, dream or not.

 

“Yeah,” you agree heatedly, anger reigning over your features once more. “How about why you’re so fucking crazy, where you went for an entire year, what’s the deal with the scepter, where did you hide the tesseract, wh–” you name off, counting each topic on your fingers until you’re interrupted.

 

“Where _have_ they put the scepter?” Loki asks you, his gaze bright and manic once again. “They study it, I’m sure. They’re self-proclaimed scientists, after all. And that one-eyed fool will want to understand it, the power it holds, what it can do.”

 

“Like I’d fucking tell you,” you say, attempting to hide your uneasiness. You hadn’t meant to bring up the scepter.

 

“I’ll need it again soon,” he mutters, almost to himself. He looks up at you, although you feel like he’s staring through you this time. “I drew enough power from it to tide me over, but I’ll need it again soon. I’m quite certain that at this point I’d die without it, and you, you’d gladly leave me in this box to perish, wouldn’t you? And I’d deserve it, I know.”

 

“What?” you ask in alarm.

 

Now, his wild eyes do focus on you. “It influences others, yes. Calls to you. Very tempting, I know it is. But it’s different with me, it’s like it was _made_ for me.”

 

You feel chill bumps run up your arms, and you take a step back from Loki’s enclosure. He watches you, noting your anxious expression. It makes him pause, and he slowly blinks.

 

 _Focus_ , he thinks to himself. _Focus. You have a plan._

 

“Who _did_ this to you?” you ask.

 

There’s no anger in your tone, no edge. It’s as if you truly want to know, your voice even bordering on something close to concern.

 

“I did this to myself,” Loki replies bluntly. Confusion crosses his face, his brow furrowing. After a second or two he shakes his head, eyes narrowing into a glare. “Done what to me?” he asks you vehemently. “Handed me true power? Offered me my birthright, one my supposed _father_ could have never followed through on?”

 

“Yeah, but like, who’s doing the offering?” you ask coldly. “Because if it’s a person, then I can just go kill that motherfucker and make the rest of this fiasco really simple.”

 

Alarm shoots across his face, so quickly you’re left wondering if it was truly there at all. Loki grimaces, a hand rising to rub at his temple. “I’d not advise that.”

 

_Not yet. That would unravel everything._

 

“Yeah, sure,” you say, glaring at him. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

 

“I’ve come to know some very dangerous people, warrior,” Loki tells you. “Dangerous people with large ambitions. And I was hand picked to join them, you might say.”

 

“Dangerous, huh?” you ask dully.

 

“Quite,” Loki says. “Allow me to frame it in a way that even you will be able to comprehend.” You scowl at him, but he continues. “You remember the man, the one who savaged my dear brother’s eye?”

 

“Trenchcoat?” you ask, more confused than upset now.

 

“I saw him, warrior,” Loki says, almost under his breath. “I saw him die. He sought out someone who could give him what he wanted, but failed to do what was asked of him. And the soldiers that Thanos calls his children, they picked him apart, like cruel youths do to whatever insects happen across their path.”

 

You want to ask who it is Loki names, but scenes, brutal and bloody, flash through your mind’s eye before you can slam your guard back up.

 

_The man’s head spins, dark glasses flying off his face, a spew of blood, arms bending the wrong way, a gurgle in his throat, he’s still alive, they laugh, they plan to skin him, since he says he hates his own flesh so much –_

 

Loki looks over at you, eyes perhaps not quite as bright. “When his beast tried to stop them, they slaughtered it as well. Quite effectively, might I add. It was over in seconds.”

 

You take in the information, your lips pressed into a thin line. You remember New Mexico. How hard it was to fight the man and his monsters, their yellow eyes, your failure, Thor…. After another moment of consideration, you meet Loki’s gaze. “You… You’re scared of them, aren’t you?”

 

He doesn’t reply, although his expression shifts, his mouth frozen somewhere between a straight line and a frown.

 

Perhaps he’s said too much.

 

 _Fool_ , his mind whispers.

 

You feel like you’ve gotten your answer. “Jeez, Loke, then just admit that you majorly fucked up. Cut your losses and leave. Just be _done_ with all… all of _this_ ,” you say, gesturing to him, exhaustion apparent in your voice. “It’s not that hard! Who _gives_ a shit anymore?! I mean, come on, _fuck_ Earth, _fuck_ whatever or whoever you’re supposed to be answering to. Just fuck everything.” You rub a hand across your face. “I’m so done with this.”

 

But instead of the anger you thought your words would be met with, Loki flashes a brief smile. Again, it’s like you’ve pleased him in some way, like when you’d first appeared from the shadows in front of his glass box.

 

“I’ve a plan,” he says conversationally, taking you aback. “It could be the answer to everything, warrior. But we’ll have to go about it carefully.”

 

“We?” you ask irritably, your eyes shooting to his. “I don’t want anything to do with your fucking plan! Or _you_ , for that matter!”

 

 _Is that… is that true?_ You aren’t completely sure, even when you know you should be.

 

“That’s neither here nor there,” Loki replies dismissively, thoughts clearly elsewhere. “You’ll come ‘round in the end.”

 

He’s plotting ahead in his mind, thinking of the different paths, the different ways events could unfold. The things you’ve said to him already ensures that at least part of his plan will wrap up nicely.

 

“But first, Banner,” Loki says aloud, looking up towards one of the room’s cameras with a nasty smile.

 

“Leave him alone,” you hear yourself state, your voice blunt and leaving no room for argument.

 

Loki raises an eyebrow at you, his smile transitioning into a cheeky grin. “Defensive, I see.”

 

“Spilling your plan to the cameras, I see,” you say, mocking his tone.

 

“My dear,” Loki says with a slow shake of his head. “I promise you, no one watches right now. No one will watch later. These so-called ‘Avengers’, your ‘acquaintances’ no doubt turn on one another as we speak.”

 

“Avengers?” you ask, confusion clouding your face.

 

Loki sneers in response, rolling his eyes and sighing. “So, he’s said nothing of it, then? So many secrets they keep from you, warrior,” he adds tauntingly. “Although I doubt you’d have to worry about being recruited to the cause. They’d be mad to want such a flighty monster among their ranks.”

 

You flinch involuntarily. A _monster_? It’s not a new term, one you’ve often applied to yourself during especially low moments. But… to hear _him_ say it….

 

It shouldn’t matter.

 

“Whatever,” you mutter, cutting your eyes away from his. You force malice into your tone, covering up your other feelings with anger as you always have. A _monster_ , you can act like a monster. And you want this to hurt, if there’s any of the old him still left to hear it. “God. I can’t believe I was going to marry you.”

 

You hear Loki take a step back from the glass. There are another few moments of silence, the quiet hum of the ship rather loud in your ears.

 

“In truth, I never could’ve committed to our union,” he finally admits, tilting his head up without meeting your gaze.

 

“Yeah?” you ask, burying the twinge of pain deep in your chest.

 

“I’m already married to Lady Chaos,” he says, putting on a wistful tone, “and she stole my heart long ago. You bore witness to the choice yourself. She called, and I? I answered.”

 

You see it all over again, the memories cold and painful and too much.

 

_‘Loki, what the hell are you talking about?’_

_‘The future. Something much bigger than the Nine Realms, than who is king and who is not. I’ve been chosen…. And I must go.’_

 

“Lady Chaos,” you repeat numbly. “Wow.” You heave a sigh and cross your arms, your hands balled into fists. “You’re so _fucking_ dramatic.”

 

He offers you a shrug, looking down at you with uncaring blue eyes.

 

And even though this isn’t your Loki… it _hurts_ to see him look at you in such a way. Like you’re insignificant, unimportant to him, like there’s no history between the two of you at all.

 

So much history.

 

You feel yourself seeking out the killer’s coldness, trying to force yourself to let go of the angry fire in your chest. If you let apathy take charge, then you won’t hurt.

 

“Does that sting, my warrior?” Loki asks, words dripping sweet poison. “Or, no, you’ve already moved on, isn’t that so? You’ve yet to tell me his name, that Asgardian soldier.”

 

“That’s none of your _fucking_ business,” you state abruptly.

 

“I know your heart, darling, I held it for so long,” he says with a snarl. “You _care_ , and yet look at you. Even _you_ know he’s soft, thought as much, and still his face lingers.”

 

_Bjorn._

 

“Shut the fuck up,” you tell him venomously, trying to force all thoughts from your mind in case he decides to follow through on his threat and rip the information from you.

 

“Can you imagine it?” Loki asks with a short, humorless laugh. “Not _you_ , no. You need someone who can stand by your side, who’s just as dangerous as you are. You like that the hand that has touched your cheek has also killed in cold blood, don’t deny it.” He steps closer to the glass, his aggressive smile too wide. “That _soldier_ , he kills for Asgard, for _honor_. And _Stark_?” He laughs again, an eyebrow raised as he looks at you. “That man is soft, too, warrior.”

 

“ _Stark_?” you ask, incredulousness coloring your tone.

 

“Of course Stark,” Loki says viciously, still smiling. “I know you, I see the signs. I hear all of their thoughts about you, warrior, I hear them all so easily. I don’t even have to search.”

 

Your heart is in your throat, your pulse racing. “You’re insane,” you state, working to keep your voice level.

 

“I heard him in Paris,” Loki tells you, eyes boring into yours. “Witnessed with my own eyes. I should’ve killed him myself. He’s the loudest on this despicable aircraft; he thinks of you often. Soft, weak, disgusting _mortal_ , thinking of _you_.” He spits the last part, a possessive glint in his gaze.

 

“No,” you snap, your fists trembling. You feel like a different person, your own voice wavering, betraying you as you say, “He’s a good guy. They’re _all_ good… good people.”

 

“There is no such thing as good people, darling. Haven’t you always said as much?”

 

You take a step away from Loki, shaking your head, your throat tight. You force out a derisive laugh. “You’re fucking _insane_ , jealous over things that aren’t there, you presumptuous _asshole_ , don’t _act_ like you know shit about me or my friends or… or….” You splutter into silence, the realization of what you’d said slowly sinking in.

 

“Friends?” His eyes seem to glitter – a snake’s eyes. “You see them as your ‘friends’, do you?”

 

“ _Acquaintances_ ,” you tell him heatedly. They aren’t your _friends_ ; you know that. But Willow is your friend. Thor’s your friend. Have you been subconsciously lumping some of the others in with them? “Can’t even think straight, I’m so mad.”

 

“Of course,” he answers, a slow, mean smile spreading across his face.

 

“Don’t,” you say, already knowing what’s coming. Tears bite at your eyes, and you’re afraid you won’t be able to handle anything else, not after what’s already been said.

 

“I’d warn you off them,” Loki tells you with obvious false concern. “I told you, I hear their thoughts, murderess, and these ‘acquaintances’ don’t trust you.”

 

“They don’t have to trust me,” you answer, cutting your eyes to the side. Your lip trembles. “Hell, it’s not like _I_ trust _them_.”

 

He’s worn you down, struck at things you’ve never even admitted to yourself. If his goal was to make you feel even more lost and unsure, then he’s fucking nailed it. You can’t stop the hurt that spreads across your face, your forehead creasing as you bite your bottom lip to stop its quivering.

 

“Ah,” you hear Loki say.

 

The sound makes you glance up as you hurriedly compose yourself. You find the prince’s face surprisingly troubled, his green eyes studying you.

 

Blue.

 

Blue eyes.

 

You were seeing things again.

 

“What?” you ask sharply.

 

His gaze refocuses, his sordid smile reappearing at once. He says nothing this time, which permits you a moment of clarity.

 

Your body feels heavy, as if you’ve expended all of your energy just to have this conversation. You’re tired of his smirks and sneers, his haughty attitude and useless banter. All of the things that used to be so familiar are simply echoes of what once was, exhibited only to flaunt the differences between then and now. To mock what used to be yours.

 

“This was a waste of time,” you mutter, glaring at him through the glass. You lift a hand, darkness gathering around your fingertips.

 

“You’d leave so soon?” he asks, smile faltering slightly.

 

“Yeah. I’m done,” you state, opening a rift of shadows behind you.

 

A few steps back, and you’ll be gone. And you don’t care who asks you – Fury, Thor, or even the bastard himself – you aren’t coming back.

 

“Until we meet again, then,” Loki says, sounding as if he’s grown bored of your presence. His eyes, though, are intense, his gaze unsettling. “Perhaps here. Perhaps in battle.”

 

“Oh, you _don’t_ want to fight me,” you warn, glowering at him.

 

“A fight to the death, then,” he says in response to your tone, his grin widening.

 

It’s as you begin to turn away that you notice his expression change once more, the smile rapidly dropping, his brows furrowing.

 

“If it comes down to it, you kill me,” he says in a rush, a flash of green. “Kill me if you have to. Do you understand me, warrior?”

 

“What?” you ask, stunned by the urgency in his voice.

 

But perhaps you need more sleep. Perhaps you imagined it. Because Loki’s mouth simply twists into another smirk, eyes bright and blue and locked with yours. “Well, we both won’t make it, you know.”

 

It’s quiet between the both of you. You shake your head at him, lips pressed together, heart aching. “I hope neither of us do.”

 

And then you vanish, stepping backwards into the shadows.

 

\---

 

The following silence is heavy, your mind spinning as you mentally pull yourself away from Loki’s prison. But you have to pause, unable to focus long enough to continue navigating your way around the alternate space. You crouch, covering your head with your arms as you listen to your thudding heart. Your throat is tight. Hurt radiates from your chest, making your limbs shake. Your whole body shakes.

 

 _Alone_ , you think. _Somehow more alone than ever_.

 

Much like when you found out Loki was alive, you allow yourself a single, dry sob.

 

How often had you imagined Loki coming back to you, of things returning to what you had come to know as normal? But you know there is nothing normal about the man in the box, not to you. Had you been secretly wishing… secretly hoping… is that why you had gone to see him at all?

 

You press the bottom of your palms against your eyes, the pressure causing you to see bright lines and bursts of color.

 

You’re close to crying, although you do your best to override the well of emotion by focusing on your more logical thoughts. What have you learned? Can any of that be of use to anyone? You can at least tell Fury to check the tapes, if he wasn’t already listening.

 

You rise, rubbing at your eyes and ignoring when your fingers come away wet.

 

You pull at your connection with Willow, following it through the darkness. You want to talk to her first. You’re not sure you can handle the others in your emotionally bedraggled state.

 

But as you draw closer, you realize that your friend is outside of the ship’s lab, standing in the doorway. You can tell there’s quite a crowd gathered in the room. The last fucking thing you need.

 

You take a deep breath as you step out of your shadows… and into a full-blown argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know what the deal is with the long breaks in between the uploads, [here's a link](https://wanderingworldwarrior.tumblr.com/post/179362239519/life-update) to my Tumblr post about it!  
> I really hope you guys understand, for those that are reading that for the first time.  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wanderingworldwarrior)!  
> Consider joining my [Discord](https://discord.gg/AbBAEY5)!  
> Music playlist for this series [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/v5cbhpe7x87je7ggjouojhvmw/playlist/3CegxxvnLiPHEuKyWzZZBo?si=19ywMPZQRoeVVFjbQzgOhg)!  
> 


End file.
